


Devil May Cry V: Return of Sparda

by BlueLightningAndNexus



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Related, Devil Hunting, Dysfunctional Family, Engagement, F/M, Family Feels, Family History, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Jackpot - Freeform, Light Angst, Secrets, Uncle Dante (Devil May Cry), Uncle-Nephew Relationship, au sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLightningAndNexus/pseuds/BlueLightningAndNexus
Summary: 2 years after the Fortuna Incident, Dante calls Nero in for an important job. A small town is terrorized by demons, Mundus' kin seeks revenge, Vergil has returned, and at the center of it all, Sparda is seemingly back. Now, the sons of Sparda have to confront their past and each other, one last time.This is an alternate universe sequel to DMC4, with some elements of V thrown in for good measure.
Relationships: Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Mission 1

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adore DMCV, and it's my favorite in the series. But I can't shake this idea for an AU where Sparda returns as a villain, so I wrote this fic. 
> 
> In case anyone's curious, using what knowledge I have of the series' timeline, I've determined that DMC4 takes place 5 years after the Animated Series, 10 years after the first game, and 19 years after the third game. I'm also assuming that DMC4 takes place in 2008, which would make this story set in 2010. 
> 
> So I've determined that Dante and Vergil are 38 in DMC4 (making them 40 in this story), and Nero is confirmed to be 19 in DMC4 (making him 21 in this story).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely adore DMCV, and it's my favorite in the series. But I can't shake this idea for an AU where Sparda returns as a villain, so I wrote this fic. 
> 
> In case anyone's curious, using what knowledge I have of the series' timeline, I've determined that DMC4 takes place 5 years after the Animated Series, 10 years after the first game, and 19 years after the third game. I'm also assuming that DMC4 takes place in 2008, which would make this story set in 2010. 
> 
> So I've determined that Dante and Vergil are 38 in DMC4 (making them 40 in this story), and Nero is confirmed to be 19 in DMC4 (making him 21 in this story).

“Rise, fallen Dark Knight. Become my servant in the shadows.”

Andromeda’s words echoed throughout the caverns and tunnels of the Demon World, Inferno. All of the magical energy in the realm seemed to pool into the Demon Queen and the revenant she was summoning. 

Arms and legs took shape at her feet. The revenant was being created piece by piece. The ritual was working. 

The bones formed next. Made from charcoal and stone, they came together to create an automaton of magic. 

“You have already perished once. Serve me, until the day you perish once more.”

The revenant’s eyes took form. Once a bright, vibrant violet in life, now they were a pale indigo, the color of a lifeless sea. A royal purple jacket, his defining article of clothing in life, was replaced with a black cloak, covering his cracked and gray skin. 

Hair, once the color of snow on the first day of a cold winter, materialized on top of his head, now disheveled, ashen. 

Andromeda had prepared for this moment for years: the chance to turn humanity’s greatest defender from two millennia ago, and one of the most powerful demons who ever walked either realm; into her personal puppet, pawn and enforcer. It was almost too good to be true. She could practically  **taste** her victory already. 

Surrounding them on all ends, Andromeda’s forces--the legions of Inferno, ready to attack the mortal world--watched in awe as their Queen turned one of humanity’s best defenders into its worst nightmare. 

The face was the final thing to form. Andromeda recognized it well. Even after 2000 years, it was a face she would never forget. 

This face belonged to the man who betrayed her brother, the Prince of Darkness. 

“Rise, slayer of Mundus, and take my side.” A deep, dark aura seemed to bloom around Andromeda, sending a chill down her spine. 

By this point, Earth’s former guardian had completed his transformation. The life was gone from his eyes, his face, his body. His left hand--which had once held the mighty Force Edge, the very weapon he used to slay Mundus--gripped onto a new blade. The thin handle was wrapped in dark gray bandages. The blade, thicker than Yamato but not as massive as Rebellion or the original Force Edge, was the color of night. A tiny, lime green gemstone connected the handle to the blade. 

“Rise, Legendary Sparda, champion of man, and slay all my enemies,” Andromeda said, a wicked smile across her thin face. 

Sparda was fully formed by this point. Humanity’s Dark Knight knelt before the Princess of Darkness, all emotion devoid from his face. 

“How may I serve you, my lady?” he asked. 

_______________________________________________________________

In the mortal world, in a small rural town just outside Redgrave City, Vergil--the Dark Slayer, the first son of Sparda, and (former) wielder of Yamato--suddenly felt a chill go down his spine, as if all the air around him turned ice-cold. 

It felt as if a demon had suddenly appeared out of thin air. He turned around, and reached for Yamato, only to find an empty sheath where his sword once was. A cruel reminder of his circumstances. 

Regardless, the “presence” seemed to have been a trick of his exhausted, fractured mind.  _ But it felt so familiar _ , the son of Sparda thought to himself.  _ Something I haven’t felt in a long time _ . 

“I’ve been walking these roads for too long,” Vergil muttered to himself, as he rubbed his eyes. 

If Dante were here, he’d say that Vergil looked like shit. Mundus’ former servant had dark bags underneath his eyes, which still had a faint, red glow to them, even after all this time. His limbs felt like lead, his arms were covered in scars and cuts from years of wearing the armor of Nelo Angelo. With each step, he was at risk of collapsing completely and never getting up. Even if a demon  **had** been there, he wasn’t entirely sure he could’ve won. He wore a brown cloak, caked in a thick layer of dust, grime and blood that he wasn’t sure would ever wash off. 

Propping himself up against a nearby fence, Vergil took a deep breath. These last few weeks, only two thoughts kept him going. 

“I...have to find Dante,” he wheezed. “And I...must find...the boy.”

_______________________________________________________________

At the same time, across the country, Dante--the Devil Hunter, the second son of Sparda, the wielder of Rebellion--was walking home with Lady and Trish, two of his three partners in the Devil May Cry business. 

They’d just finished up a job at Rye, East Sussex. Some kind of exorcism had gone wrong, and the three were called in, which pissed Dante off a bit because it meant they were a client’s second choice to a clearly incompetent novice exorcist. In his personal opinion, firearms and over-sized swords were always the best choice for dealing with demonkind. 

“All I’m saying is: had Dante actually gotten ready on time,  **like I told him** , we would’ve gotten done a lot sooner, and we could actually find a decent bite to eat!” Lady shouted, as they approached their RV. 

“Oh, please!” Dante replied. “It’s not my fault every restaurant in this dump closes at seven.”

“Yes, but if you brought one of those new fancy toys of yours, we could’ve finished much sooner,” Trish reminded him. “I wouldn’t have minded Lucifer or Pandora, that could’ve helped tonight.”

Dante made a face, and Trish stopped in her tracks. “Dante, are you serious? Tell me you didn’t.”

“Now, just hear me out,” Dante told her, “it’s been a slow month, I didn’t think we could make rent, and I kind of...sold those two.”

Trish face-palmed, and Lady let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious?” Lady asked between wheezes, as she climbed into the RV. 

“You could’ve sold anything else! Why’d you sell our two best weapons?!” Trish shouted. 

“Hey, I didn’t realize you had such an emotional attachment to them,” the white-haired man said, holding his hands up. 

Trish scoffed. She and Dante climbed into the car. The blonde plopped down onto the driver’s seat, and Dante handed her the keys as he took the shotgun seat. “Oh, don’t even start with “emotional attachment,” when you’re the one giving googly eyes at Nevan everytime you see it.”

Just hearing the word ‘Nevan’ put Dante in a trance, and he adopted a rather doopy-looking grin. “God, I fucking love that guitar.”

“You’ve never played it!” Lady shouted. 

“Hey, I so play it all the time!” Dante told her. 

“Oh? Name  **one time** ,” Trish said, holding up a finger, “and the Temen-ni-guru doesn’t count.”

“Because you weren’t there, or because it was 20 years ago?” Dante asked. 

“ **Both** !”

Dante’s gears were turning as he mentally worked on a snappy comeback, but that train of thought died almost as soon as Trish started the car. A chill went down his spine, as if he were being watched. He flipped around, Ebony drawn, but found nothing but a concerned Lady. 

“Dante?” she asked. “Is everything alright?”

The presence felt familiar, yet altered. Like going to a home that didn’t exist anymore. 

Trish and Lady were both giving him concerned glances. Dante took his seat, putting the gun away slowly. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Sorry, just a bit jumpy, I guess.”

Trish playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get shitfaced.”


	2. Mission 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrison has a job, and Dante is still broke as fuck.

**_Three Weeks Later_ **

Morrison entered the Devil May Cry shop, a small folder in his hands. After knocking twice and receiving no response, he entered the small building. Immediately, the overwhelming smell of pizza, sugar, and...unwashed socks (?) dominated his sense of smell. The lights had been shut off, leaving the room in total blackness. Traces of moonlight spilled in through the ajar door and small windows, illuminating some parts of the room and revealing a messy floor, littered with pizza boxes, ice cream wrappers and soda cans. 

“Jesus, Dante, you really need to clean up around here.” Morrison muttered it mostly to himself, half under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, a chair turned around, revealing the devil hunter himself. His face was only partially revealed in the dimly lit room, and quite honestly, Morrison’s eyes weren’t as good as they once were, but he just fucking  **knew** that Dante had that signature shit-eating grin. 

“James Daniel Morrison! How dare you come in my humble abode-- **without asking** , if I may add--and insult my decor?” 

Morrison gave him a look. “I knocked. You were less than 10 feet from the door.” The broker took off his hat and coat before setting them against the only chair in the room that wasn’t covered in beer stains. “I didn’t even know you knew the word adobe,” Morrison retorted. “Or decor.”

“My vocabulary is more extensive than you might give me credit for.”

Morrison chuckled. “You mind turning on a light?”

Dante clicked his tongue. “Can’t. Electricity’s out.”

“Again?” Morrison asked. 

Dante threw his hands in the air. “Tell me about it! And after I sold my best weapons!” A beat. “Oh, you were being sarcastic.”

“I was. I have a job.”

“Well  **hallelujah** ! Hit me.”

Morrison pulled a folder out of his briefcase. “Your vision must be terrible, sitting in the dark like this.”

“Oh, I’m not always in the dark,” Dante said. “Usually Nero’s here, and his arm glows a bit. So that helps.” After a moment he added, “I occasionally use Cerberus, too.”

“You use your demon nunchucks and that kid as a living glowstick?”

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess it does sound a bit weird.”

Morrison sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Take a look at that, see if you recognize it.”

Noticing his friend’s shift in tone, Dante sat up a bit in his seat. “Everything alright there?”

The broker gave no response, simply handing Dante the file. Dante raised an eyebrow and opened it up. Clipped onto the front was a cluster of photographs: a man, clad in black and gray, with ashen hair. 

“It’s...well, it’s a bit of a doozy, Dante.”

Dante continued flipping through the photographs. They were all of a man with ashen hair, and a sword black as the night. It was a weird Devil Arm; long as hell, with some funky-looking gemstones on the helm. 

The devil hunter’s mind was suddenly taken back to a different time, a different life. A time when he and his brother played in the backyard, cooked with their mom, played music with their dad. 

Dante shook his head.  _ Why did I just think of that? It’s just some stupid coincidence _ . 

“I got some friends in London, old clients of mine. They’ve been seeing this guy around here; everywhere he shows up, demons start attacking the next day. Know him?”

Dante shook his head, hoping the relative darkness did a good job masking the confusion on his face. _Why does that photo send a chill down my spine?_ _And why did it look like Vergil?_

_ Or...did it look like dad? _

“Can’t say I do, but I don’t appreciate this guy stealing my style.”

Morrison hummed. “Amon’s been hit pretty bad by demons lately.”

“Amon?”

“Tiny town, about an hour from Manchester. That guy was just spotted there. Client was hoping that you could go in, clean up shit, as you tend to do.”

Dante chuckled. “Alright, I’m game. You mind if I borrow this?” he asked, his hand on the file. 

Morrison narrowed his eyes. Dante...had never, in his life, ever read a file that Morrison gave him. Hell, he couldn’t remember seeing Dante read anything besides magazines. 

“...Sure, knock yourself out. Think you’ll need the girls for this?” Morrison asked. 

“Nah, that’s just more people to split the cash with,” Dante told him. “I’ll handle this one solo.”

His friend nodded, lighting up a cigar. “You know, Patty’s been asking for you lately. Kid’s almost 16, if you can believe it. I shudder to think about what it’ll be like when she starts driving,” he said with a chuckle. “I told her you were out of town.”

“I mighty appreciate that,” Dante replied, pulling the photos out of Morrison’s file. 

Morrison rolled his eyes. “What I  **meant** , Dante, is that you should drop by sometime, have a bit to eat with us.”

“I will,” Dante said, still eyeing the man in the photos. “But I think I need to take care of some family business first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I love writing Dante but I'm worried I'm not nailing that hilarious goofball personality we all love. What do you guys think? Have I done a good job? I'm open to all feedback and criticism.


	3. Mission 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero finishes a job, meets a mechanic, and listens to Dante's ramblings.

As the final demon fell to pieces, Nero couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. 

He exhaled, his breath visible in the cold night air. This job had been a boring one. (Shame, too. He could've used the exercise) Scarecrows and Frosts had been attacking some tiny coastal town, a few hours from Fortuna. They were probably migrating over from the island. 

Nero took Red Queen--now stained with black blood--and put it back on his back. He’d barely even used it this whole day. He was hoping for at least some kind of challenge, but oh well. Challenge or not, another job meant more for Kyrie and more for the kids back in town. 

Thinking of his fiancé, Nero instinctively fidgeted with the silver band on his ring finger. The final Scarecrow evaporated on the pavement. 

_I’m coming home, babe._

_______________________________________________________________________

The walk back in town wasn’t particularly long, but it was boring. The wind nipped at his face, blowing his black coat in all directions. A light snow began to descend from the gray sky. Nero looked up at the sky, catching a couple flakes on his tongue, just like when he and Credo were kids. 

Nero couldn’t even remember the name of his client, but she told him to meet at a mechanic’s shop called Goldstein’s Garage. A couple of the townsfolk gave Nero odd looks; either due to the gun in his hand, the sword on his back, or the glowing arm at his side. Nero didn’t much care which one, but it occurred to him that his client might be a bit freaked out by the Devil Bringer. He reached in his coat pocket, slipping some gloves onto his right hand. 

When Nero finally found the shop, he saw someone inside, tinkering with some kind of rifle. It didn’t look like his client. He was a shorter man, with thin blonde hair and a button-down white shirt, covered in grease stains. 

“Hey.” Nero knocked on the side of the wall. “Is this Goldstein’s?”

The man turned around, wiping some sweat off his brow. “Oh, I didn’t even hear you! Come on in, get out of the cold.”

Nero could barely even feel the cold, but he stepped into the shop anyways, closing the door behind him. “You Goldstein?”

“Oh, uh, yes. Technically.” A beat. “Well, sort of. My mum, Nell, was the one who started this. I’ve been trying to branch out and start my own shop for a moment.”

Nero _hated_ small talk, but he was at trying to wear an expression that was at least neutral. “She sounds pretty badass.”

The man nodded. “She passed away last spring. Cancer.”

Nero’s expression turned sullen. “Sorry to hear about it.” The young devil hunter didn’t quite know how to turn the conversation in the direction of his payment, and was relieved when Rock spoke up. 

“Please, please, make yourself comfortable.” He nudged a chair in Nero’s direction. “You can, uh, remove your gear.”

Nero set Red Queen and Blue Rose onto a nearby table. “Did...did you do it?” the man asked. 

Nero nodded yes. “Tracked ‘em town to a little clearing, just outside of town. Probably twenty or thirty of them. They’re all gone.”

The mechanic gave a small, relieved chuckle. “Oh, thank god. I can’t thank you enough. They nearly got my wife and daughter the other day.”

“That reminds me of something,” Nero said. “The person I spoke to on the phone the other day was a woman. Your wife?”

“Oh, no, that was Nico, my daughter,” he said. “I’m Rock, Rock Goldstein. We promised you, what was it, six grand? Seven?”

Nero gave an annoyed look, eyebrows raised. “Ten. Ten grand.”

Rock turned around, facing the door to the house. “Nico, could you get in here for a second!”

Nero rolled his eyes.  _ Jesus, please just get my money _ . 

He heard the sound of quick footsteps, and the door flew open. A woman--maybe a bit taller than Kyrie--with messy, black hair in a headband came running in. Thin glasses with red frames accentuated her dark eyes. She looked about Nero’s age. 

“Oh, shit, you’re that guy, ain’t you!?” Nico asked. “Nero, was it? Didya find ‘em?”

Nero crossed his arms, leaning against the table. “Found and killed ‘em, but it sounds like you guys aren’t quite as...liquid as you led on.”

Nico averted her gaze. She’d been caught. “Look, I can explain--” 

“Look, lady, do you have my money or not?”

“...perhaps not as much as I indicated,” Nico said, trying to ignore the daggers in her father’s gaze, “but I can repay you in other ways! S-see, I’m a mechanic, and if you want, I could give you some upgrades on your weapons. On the house.”

Rock scoffed. “Hon, that’s not--”

“Wait,” Nero said, raising a hand to silence him. “I, uh, think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Reaching over to the table, he pulled out Red Queen. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with this kind of sword, but--”

“Woah, is this an Exceed-model weapon!” Nico exclaimed. “I’ve only read about these!”

“Uh, yeah,” Nero said. “But I think the ignition’s broken, it’s not charging like it should be.”

“I’ll see what I can do!” Nico enthusiastically replied. 

Rock looked a bit apprehensive, but when Nero caught the older man’s gaze, he mouthed “It’s fine.”

Rock sighed. “Well, thanks for all your help son. Snow might pick up later tonight, and we really appreciate your work. My wife’s making some stew, you’re more than welcome to stay for a bit and have some.” He gestured to the sword. “When my girl is done, of course.”

“I really appreciate the offer, but I need to be heading back home.”

Rock caught sight of the engagement finger on Nero’s hand. “Got a special someone back home?”

Nero kept a straight face. “Something like that.”

Rock closed the door behind him, leaving Nico and Nero alone. 

“Sorry about that,” Nico said once Rock was gone. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d come out here if we knew how much we had. We aren’t exactly rolling in it.” As she spoke, she pulled out a few tools and started fiddling with the fuel capsule. 

“I’d still have come.”

The two fell into a semi-awkward silence, Nico not meeting his gaze. “Hand me that wrench, would ya? The one hanging off the wall.”

Nero leaned back in his seat, grabbing the tool and handing it over with his left hand. As Nico took it, she noticed the ring on his index finger, with the symbol of the Order of the Sword. 

Nico studied the craftsmanship. “Hey, I think I’ve seen this before,” she said. Realization dawned on her face, and a confused Nero looked up at her. 

“Oh, shit, you one of those kids from Fortuna?” 

Nero crossed his arms, defensive. “What is it to you?” he said. 

Nico cleared her throat. “Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to offend. My, uh, old man was from Fortuna. He was there when it fell two years back.” Nero made a face. “Not him, not Rock. My biological dad.”

“Oh. Did he...make it?”

“Afraid not. Can’t say I miss him, creepy fucker.”

Nero thought of Credo, Sanctus, Agnes. Kyrie. “Were you there when it all went to shit?” she asked. 

The white-haired man paused. “No. Heard about what happened though. Freaky shit.”

She studied him, taking his words in. Trying to decide if she should believe him or not. “Looks like something got jammed in the fuel cap,” she finally said. “I can get it fixed and cleaned up in about ten minutes.”

Relieved that the conversation was over, Nero sat up. “Take your time. You got a phone I can use?”

Nico nodded. “Landline’s in the kitchen, second door on the left.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Kyrie picked up on the second ring. “Nero?”

Nero smiled the second he heard her voice. “Hey, babe. Just finished up. I’m getting some stuff fixed right now, but I’m gonna try to head home tonight. I’ll probably get back late, don’t stay up.”

“Oh, that’s great, love. Julio’s been asking for you. The kids miss you.”

“Tell the little squirt I’ll be home in time for breakfast.”

“How was the job?”

“Oh, it was fine.” Nero neglected to mention the strange mechanic he met, or their conversation about Fortuna. Best not to trouble Kyrie. “Easy peasy.”

“Oh, by the way, Dante’s been calling me. He wants to know where you are.”

“Dante?”

“Yeah. He sounded real worried, but I...don’t think he knew my name. He kept calling me Kairi?” Nero face palmed on the other end. “You mind giving him a call?” 

_ What the hell does he want now?  _ Nero thought. 

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’m sure it’s nothing,” Nero said. “Probably just trying to weasel his way out of something with Lady. I’ll call him right now.”

“Alright. Get home soon. I love you.”

Those three magic words were enough to clear the sky and raise his spirits. “I love you too. Tell the kids I said goodnight.”

Nero hung up, and dialed Dante’s number, fidgeting with the glove on his Devil Bringer. The older man picked up almost immediately. 

“Kairi?” Dante asked. 

“For the last time, it’s  **Kyrie** ,” Nero said. Then paused. “But wait, no, it’s Nero.”

“Oh, thank god. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for ages. Where the hell are you?”

“At  **work** , Dante. I know it’s a foreign concept to--”

“Yeah, yeah, just a sec kid. I got us a job. Someplace called Amon.”

If Nero wasn’t so confused--and, frankly, pissed off--he’d laugh. Dante? Trying to take a job, with him? Willingly?

“Where the fuck is Amon?” Nero asked. 

“Who the hell knows, but it’s important.” 

“I thought you worked solo,” Nero said, his tone the verbal equivalent of a shit-eating grin. “At least, that’s what you’ve told me the last dozen times.”

Nero could practically hear the eyeroll. “This is a big gig,” he lied. “I don’t mind splitting the cash.”

“Alright, fine, calm your tits. I’ll be home late tonight.”

On the other end of the call, Dante was examining the photographs of the ashen-haired swordsman. The man who, against all odds, looked exactly like his father. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, kid.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH, I can't resist adding Nico in! I love her so much! I promise this isn't a cameo, she's actually plot relevant. 
> 
> If you didn't figure it out, this story is only 2 years after DMC4, not 5 years like the actual game; so Nero hasn't met Nico, and she doesn't know about him or the Fortuna incident. 
> 
> I have the same problem with Nero as Dante: I'm worried I'm not quite getting the spirit of his character. As it stands, the canon DMC5 is the only game where he's actually an official devil hunter, so I couldn't quite figure out if he's the sort of guy that's fine doing a little bit of pro bono work (or at least work at a lower payment) or if he's no nonsense and would hate being scammed. I compromised a bit and had him be pissed at Nico, but more because she lied to him. I also wasn't sure if I was using too many swear words; Nero is the sort of guy who swears a lot, but I didn't want to overdo it and risk him sounding like reboot Dante. Again, I'm very open to criticism.
> 
> And yes, that's a wedding ring Nero has in the first scene ;)


	4. Mission 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger stops Nero on his way home.

Nero’s head was racing the whole drive home. Normally, he’d be ecstatic to finish a job so early: more time with Kyrie, more money to send home. 

But something about the way Dante spoke on the phone. Almost...nervous?  _ That can’t be right _ , Nero told himself.  _ What on Earth could get that guy spooked?  _

In the two years since they met, Nero and Dante had crossed paths numerous times. But the younger man had never known Dante to get scared over anything. Whether it be building-sized demons threatening to destroy the city, crazy cults, criminal organizations with bizarre connections to the supernatural, rogue bounty hunters, or even weird genetically engineered viruses (that was a weird weekend); Dante just...didn’t scare. In fact, it seemed like the few times Dante actively encouraged Nero to come take a job with him, the novice devil hunter was barely even needed. 

It both impressed Nero, just how nonchalant Dante was in the face of everything, and made his blood boil, knowing that he was just dead weight on their jobs, the unneeded backup. What the fuck was so urgent that Dante and Nero had to go now?

Nero couldn’t help but think of that woman, Nico. It’d been ages since he thought of Fortuna, and he wanted nothing more than to forget it. But how do you forget something that dominated your life for so many years?

Nero was so consumed with his thoughts he almost didn’t see the man walk into the road. Nero hit the brakes just in time. 

“Hey, get the fuck out of the road!” Nero called. 

Despite the falling snow, the man wore nothing more than a ratty brown cloak, thin as paper. The hood concealed most of his face, but Nero could just barely make out cracked skin and dull, blue eyes. 

The man said nothing, but as his cloak whipped around in the wind, Nero noticed his hand move to his side, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

When the man didn’t move, Nero got out of the car. “Hey, asshole, you mind moving? I’m tryna drive here.”

The man finally spoke, his voice raspy, nasally. “You have something I want?”

Nero shot him a look. “What, this old hunk of junk?” he asked, pointing to the van. 

Once Nero took a step closer, his right arm started throbbing. A familiar feeling surged through his nerves, like ice and fire at the same time. Nero slowly removed the glove, revealing his Devil Bringer, glowing a bright blue. The same shade of blue it always glowed around demons, even around Dante. 

Realization dawned on Nero. “You a demon?”

The man lunged at Nero. He materialized in his hand a blue astral sword. Not quite the same as the ones Nero summoned, but oddly similar. A mirage of some sort. 

The young devil hunter leaped out of the way just in time. Diving into his car, Nero pulled out Red Queen. 

“Last chance, asshole,” Nero said, as he grabbed Blue Rose from the passenger’s seat. “You don’t want this fight.”

“Oh, but I do.” The stranger sliced his van in half, but Nero leaped out at the last second. Spinning in the air, he shot at an entire barrel at him. 

Each bullet was sliced in half by Mirage Edge with perfect precision, at which point, the cloaked man lined up the bullet halves and sent them back at Nero. The young devil hunter held up Red Queen like a shield, blocking the deflected rounds. 

Before Nero had time to think, the stranger was on top of him. Locking blades, Nero got a better look at his face. Underneath the pale skin and battle scars, the resemblance was clear: this fucker looked exactly like Dante. 

“Who are you?” Nero asked through gritted teeth. 

“It doesn’t matter,” the stranger said. “You have something I want.”

“Shut  **up!** ” Nero shouted. With a twist of the handle, Red Queen roared, and the blade lit up like a torch. 

Now it was Nero’s turn to go on the offensive. He thrashed furiously at the stranger, who effortlessly blocked each swing of the sword with Mirage Edge. Nero spun around, throwing rounds into the sky and catching them into the barrel of Blue Rose, before firing off a flurry of shots. The swordsman dodged each bullet as if they were moving in slow motion. 

Seeing that his usual strategies weren’t working, Nero opted for a more direct approach. As the stranger rushed in to counterattack, Nero leaped in the arrow, narrowly avoiding a sword slash, and grabbed onto the man’s neck with the Devil Bringer, before slamming him into the ground. When Nero went in for the finishing blow, revving up Red Queen once more, the man rolled out of the way. 

The two were now standing several feet apart. The stranger took a fighting stance, bending his knees slightly, turning his body to the right and aiming his sword at Nero, eyes fixated on the younger boy. Nero rested Red Queen on his shoulder. 

“Look, can I be real with you?” Nero finally said. “I had a long day, and I just wanna go home and get some shut eye in my bed. You mind calling this a draw?”

His opponent said nothing. “Fine,” Nero said. Cracking his knuckles against his face, the young man couldn’t help but laugh. “But remember: what happens next is on you.”

Eyes turning red, Nero held out the Devil Bringer, and the Yamato materialized in his palm. A spectral fighter appeared behind him, the same color as the Mirage Edge his opponent wielded. 

“Do you understand my power now?” Nero finally said. His voice was distorted, demonic, as it always was when he entered this form. 

In the howling wind, the stranger’s hood blew off. Trapped in a suit of armor for 10 years, it’d been a long time since he let loose like this. Since he felt the true rush of combat without anything to hold him back. 

“Oh, I understand plenty,” Vergil said. 

The Mirage Edge in his left hand, Vergil held out his right hand. A huge, black broadsword appeared in his grip. A weapon he swore he’d never use again. The sword of Nelo Angelo. 

“If you’re dual-wielding, I think it’s only fair I do, too. Wouldn’t you say?” Vergil asked. 

Nero lunged, screaming in anger. He unleashed a barrage of astral shurikens, Exceed-charged swings, and strikes from Yamato, but Vergil effortlessly blocked all of them. All four swords clashed together: Nelo Angelo’s broadsword against the blazing Red Queen, and Yamato against the glowing Mirage Edge. 

Vergil headbutted Nero once the two were close enough, before unleashing a barrage of his own strikes. He stabbed at Nero, nicking the young man several times, before swinging the black broadsword into Yamato, knocking the weapon out of Nero’s hand. 

Vergil gave one last swing at Nero, who blocked it with the Devil Bringer. The impact still sent him flying across the road, into one of the halves of his van. 

The fight was over. Vergil’s exhaustion caught up to him, and he nearly fell over, holding himself up with the black blade. “I...might have overdone myself there,” he grumbled. 

The Son of Sparda weakly stumbled over to his sword. Even after all these years, it still had the same shine, the same brilliance. Sending the Mirage Edge and the wretched broadsword away, his hands found the weapon he craved for so long. 

“ **HEY!”**

Vergil turned around, and found a battered Nero charging at him. “ **You’re not getting away!** ”

Vergil rolled his eyes. In the blink of an eye, he slammed the weapon butt of the handle into Nero’s chest, knocking him back. 

As Nero regained his balance, Vergil sliced the air vertically, then horizontally, then stepped through the resulting portal. Nero charged once more, only for the portal to close just before he reached it; he stumbled, falling in the snow. 

After what felt like an eternity, Nero--bloodied and defeated--pulled himself onto his feet, Red Queen gripped in his hand. Without even thinking, one final word escaped his lips:

“Fuck.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The sound of his landline ringing woke Dante up. Same as most days, Redgrave City’s resident demon slayer passed out on his bed in a pair of boxers and nothing else. Rolling around in his blankets, Dante pressed a pillow against his ears and checked his clock. 

_ Who the hell is calling at 2 in the morning!? _

Dante loved his apartment, he really did. It was both the perfect living space and the perfect work space, with trinkets from over the years. His vintage landline was a great example. 

But right now, he regretted keeping that thing more than anything else in the world. 

“Please shut up, please shut up, plea--”

It stopped. 

“Jackpot.”

It started ringing again.   


“Shut up!”

Finally, Dante rolled out of his bed and ran out into the main living area, picking up a phone that he was seriously considering throwing out.

“What. The Hell. Is it?” he asked. 

Dante was met with the sound of the wind blowing and thunder brewing. But amidst the noise, he could make out the sound of his...well, work colleague is probably the best term. 

“Dante?” Nero asked on the other end. 

“Kid? What the hell is it? It’s two in the goddamn morning.”

“Yeah, yeah I figured it was late. Um...can you come pick me up?”

Dante scoffed. “Now? In this weather?”

“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.” 

“You have a car, Nero.” Dante was about to slam the phone shut and then shoot it to death, but he just  **barely** heard Nero’s next words. 

“...not anymore, no.” Nero winced on the other end, as if in pain. 

“Kid? What’s that supposed to mean? You alright?”

Calling from some random pay-phone in the middle of nowhere, Nero clutched the stab wound Vergil gave him. “It’s...kind of a long story.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot of fanservice, tbh. 
> 
> I ALWAYS loved Nelo Angelo's sword, so of course I wrote that in! 
> 
> It was really important that I change the context for Vergil and Nero's confrontation from how it was in the canon game. Even before playing the fifth game I always knew these two were destined to meet, but I approached it a lot differently. We already knew Vergil was weakened, so I had Nero fight him in a more open area with Red Queen on hand to at least give him a fighting chance (which, in turn, necessitated I give Vergil at least one weapon of his own to counter). I also had Nero go into Devil Trigger and manifest Yamato on his own, so that way Vergil could get it without necessarily cutting Nero's arm off. All in all, a much less one-sided duel for these two, but one that Vergil was still clearly in control of.


	5. Mission 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero got hurt, Kyrie's taking care of him, and Dante meets Julio.

At first light, Kyrie woke up to a knock on her door. 

Nero had never come home the night before; the young woman was disappointed to find his side of the bed still cold when she awoke, and his car wasn’t in their garage. _That’s probably been him right now_ , she reasoned. _But why did he get back so late?_

Throwing on a bathrobe over her usual sleeping pajamas and putting her hair up in a ponytail, she yawned. “I’m coming.”

When she answered the door, she found Dante, leaning against the door frame. She took note of his unwashed hair, the massive bags under his eyes. 

“Dante? What is it?” she asked, looking past him. “W-where’s Nero?”

“Good morning, red,” he replied, strangely chipper. “Our homeboy’s back. He’s in the RV, but you gotta promise to not freak out.”

_________________________________________________________________________________

She freaked out. 

In all fairness, what were you supposed to do when you saw your best friend and life partner covered in blood, bruises and...stab wounds (!?). 

“Hey babe,” Nero muttered. He was laying on a futon in the back of the RV. His shirt and jacket had been torn to shreds, exposing several cuts of varying depth and length criss crossing his chest. A purple bruise was in the center of his chest, where Vergil hit him with the sheath of Yamato. 

She immediately started to tear up, a hand flying to her mouth. Who could have done this to her beloved?

Dante looked to Nero, and the two exchanged identical looks. 

“Don’t cry,” Nero and Dante said in unison. 

“I’m not." She wiped a tear from her left eye. 

“Yes you are,” Nero said. “I can see the tears.”

“I’m not!” she repeated, opting to cover her face altogether. 

“If you cry I’m gonna start crying,” Nero joked. He chuckled, and then winced. 

“I’ve actually never seen you cry,” Dante replied. “What’s it look like?”

“Now is not the **fucking time** , Dante.”

Wiping the tears from her face, Kyrie turned to Dante. “Do you have any bandages in here?” 

Dante looked at her like she had two heads. “No. Why?” Then realization hit him. “Oh, shit, yeah. For Nero. No, I don’t.”

The young couple gave him a disapproving look. “What? I heal from, like, everything,” he retorted. Nero rolled his eyes. 

“Dante, help me get him inside."

_________________________________________________________________________________

When they walked in the house, Julio was already there and waiting. 

“Miss Kyrie, is Nero here?” he asked, and his question was immediately met when Dante came inside carrying Nero. 

The young boy gasped. “What happened to you?”

Nero put on a wobbly, but his heart broke in two. Julio was one of the older kids; always looking out for not just his siblings, but even Nero and Kyrie. The young hunter hated to worry the kids. “It’s alright bud, it doesn’t hurt,” he lied. 

“Miss Kyrie, should I tell everyone?” 

“No!” Kyrie practically shouted. She cleared her throat, lowering her voice. “No, sorry. We didn’t want to worry you. Nero just got a bit hurt, but he’ll be good to go in just a couple hours, you’ll see.”

Dante let go of Nero’s arm, and let the shorter man hold himself up. “Why are you even up?” Nero asked. “It’s early.”

“We saw the strange man at the door,” Julio said. “Me, Marcel, Isabel and Maria.”

“What strange man?” Dante asked. “Oh, wait, me.”

“We got worried,” Julio said, “because you always told us to not talk to strangers.”

“Oh, I’m not a stranger,” Dante said. “My name’s Dante! I’m a, uh, friend of Nero.”

Julio made a face. “No, you’re not. Why does he never talk about you? And why does he groan anytime Miss Kyrie says you’re calling? And why does he always say “Asshole” anytime she says your name?”

Kyrie’s mouth fell open. “Julio! We do not say words like that! Apologize right now!”

Not entirely sure who he was apologizing to, Julio lowered his head. “Oh, I’m sorry.” A beat. “But why does he call you that?”

Dante blinked once, twice. “I, uh, don’t know. Tell me, Nero, why is that?”

Nero threw his hands in the air in disbelief. “Oh, we are not doing this now, Dante.” Turning to Julio, he put a hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about this, kiddo, go back to bed.”

Julio looked up to Kyrie, as if expecting her to rebuke that statement, but she just gave a small smile. “He’s right,” she told him, “run along now and try to get some rest.”

Once Julio disappeared up the stairs, Dante cleared his throat. 

“So, Nero, something you’d like to tell--”

“Oh, give it a rest asshole,” Nero grumbled, a response that elicited a giggle from Kyrie and a dry chuckle from Dante. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

Dante was sitting on a small chair in the corner of Nero and Kyrie’s bedroom, legs crossed and sharpening Rebellion. Nero and Kyrie were sitting upright on the bed, the latter wrapping the former in bandages. 

“Well, if nothing else, it looks like you’re already healing,” Kyrie said. 

“Yeah, but I should’ve been healing a lot faster,” Nero told her. “I got these injuries hours ago.”

Dante had to admit, Nero was right. The red-clad dark slayer had a rather strong healing factor himself. ( _Hell, I’ve gotten impaled, like, once a year since I was a kid_.) And he saw Nero take bullets to the chest and slugs to the face like it was nothing. The fact that it was taking Nero this long to heal and he was still in pain meant it probably had something to do with the weapon itself. 

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Dante said, patting him on the back. “You’ll be fine. Good enough for the job, at least.”

Kyrie shot Dante a befuddled look, then gave the same to Nero. “Job? What job?”

Dante’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked to Nero without moving an inch, trying to gauge the young man’s face. 

Internally, Dante was screaming _You fucked up, Nero!_ But externally he settled for a simple “Kid, you didn’t tell her?”

Nero exhaled a bit. Because of fucking **course** Dante put him in this situation. “Sorry, babe. That’s what he was calling about last night. We have another job, we’re gonna head out today.”

“Today? But you just got back. I thought the last job went well?”

“And it did! I’m sorry, babe,” Nero said. He tightened his fist. “I-I didn’t want to worry you, but I got stiffed. There was a misunderstanding last night, I didn’t get the money I thought I would.”

Kyrie took her hand in his. “Well, I’m not mad, love. I was just hoping you could stay here and rest for a bit. It’s been a couple days since you were home.”

 _I’m always home when I’m with you_ , Nero almost said. 

“Don’t worry about it, red,” Dante told her. “It’s a biggie, my broker said so.”

“And...that’s why you wanted Nero to come along?” Kyrie asked. Her expression changed to a smile. “Wow, Dante, that’s...awfully sweet of you.”

Dante waved his hand. “Ah, no big deal.” He propped Rebellion against the dresser, and leaned forward in his seat. 

“Kid, I wanted to ask: what kind of weapon did this?” Dante inquired. 

Nero thought back. It all happened so fast, but he could still see the man and the swords he used clearly in his mind. “He had two. One of them...well, it didn’t even look like a weapon. The normal kind. It just kinda appeared in his hand, all blue and glowing, like the kind you’ve seen me use.”

Dante nodded. “And the other?”

“A huge broadsword that glowed blue. It had a pale, green handle. **That** was the one that gave me these.” He pointed to his cuts “Know anything about that, Dante?” 

Images came back to Dante in a blur. A castle, abandoned to time and the elements. A dark knight in a full suit of armor. Soulless crimson eyes that once belonged to family. An angel of light. The Force Edge. Trish. 

“No idea.”

“Just who exactly did this, honey?” Kyrie asked, as she wrapped the final bandage around his human arm. 

“I have no idea.” Nero tried to ignore Kyrie’s misty eyes. “He...he wore a cloak. Tall, lean, probably a bit taller than me. His skin was all,” Nero made a disgusted face, “fucked.”

Seeing the worry, Kyrie gently put a hand on his cheek. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I do, it’s alright.” He turned his whole body to face her. “He stopped me in the middle of the road. He said he had something I wanted. When I said I didn’t know him and didn’t know what he wanted, he slashed the car in half and tried to kill me.”

“Did you ever find out what he wanted?” Kyrie asked. 

“Y-yeah, I think so. Once I used that sword--Yamato--he wrestled it away and ran.” When he saw the confusion in his lover’s face, Nero elaborated “It was the katana I used to save you back in Fortuna.” 

“Fortuna?” she asked. “Why in the world would he want that?”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “Nero, you didn’t tell me that part of the story. You didn’t even mention Yamato.”

Nero sat up from the bed, putting on a black v-neck shirt. “Why? Know anything about it?”

Dante averted his gaze. “Oh, no, I don’t.”

Nero rolled his eyes, suddenly angry. “Bull **SHIT**!” he shouted. “You know something. You knew something about the swords, too.” 

Dante said nothing, a bit taken back by Nero’s outburst, but he tried to maintain an inscrutable expression on his face. Nero growled. “He even looked like you, Dante. Same hair, same eyes, same face. So I ask again. What do you know about the fucker who attacked me?”

Kyrie reached out and took his hand. "Nero," she said. "It's alright."

Nero looked back at her, and the anger faded quickly as it came. "S-sorry," he mustered. 

Dante thought for a moment. With his back to the wall, fine, he could give these two the basic details. But they absolutely could not know the truth about Nero. “Fine. I don’t know for sure, but I have a pretty good guess.”

Dante closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. 

“Let me tell you about my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing Kyrie! How did I do? (Well, I wrote, like, one paragraph with her in an older fic) I wanted to keep that same air of sweetness that she always has in cutscenes, but I also wanted to flesh her out. Amidst other female characters like Lady, Trish and Nico, she's not nearly as developed and we know a lot less of her personality, so I kinda struggled. 
> 
> Also, as much as I love writing post-DMC5 where Dante and Nero are close, I also love writing post-DMC4 where they piss each other off, know nothing about the other's life, and share one brain cell.


	6. Mission 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante tells Nero and Kyrie about his brother.

“They called him the Dark Slayer.”

Dante’s tone was uncharacteristically serious. Each word carried a solemn weight that Nero rarely heard him use. 

“I’d always heard the whispers in the underworld, about a powerful hybrid--the son of Sparda--who destroyed everything in his path. But to me, he wasn’t anything to fear. He was just Vergil.”

His expression shifted to a nostalgic smile, yet he had the same grave tone. 

“I was born two minutes after him. My parents always joked that he was planned and I was the accident.” He gave a mirthless laugh.

“Vergil was your classic dorky older brother. He got it from our dad. Hell, we were even named after some old story my dad loved. Vergil always wanted to know about our dad’s crazy adventures, he always had his nose buried in some dusty book.”

It was strange for Kyrie to hear Dante so casually refer to Sparda--a legendary demon, two-thousand years of age that she spent most of her life worshipping--as “dad,” but that was probably the least weird thing about this story. 

“We were always aware that we were different, Vergil and I. Our hair was white from the day we were born. Our mom told us that we were special, that we would do great things and change the world.” Dante chuckled. “We knew we were demons, of course we did. Our parents told us. But the magnitude of that didn’t seek in until mom and dad died.”

The smile wavered, then disappeared. 

“The night demons attacked our house, mom died looking for him. The last thing I ever heard her say was his name.”

Nero looked away. “Jesus,” he whispered. 

Kyrie’s mouth fell open. “D-Dante, that’s...horrible.”

Dante nodded. “Yeah, it was,” he said mildly. “I never knew what happened to them, to any of them. Not for sure. But my brother--well, I always just assumed he died. That I was the only one.” He ran a hand through his snowy hair. 

“I went into the foster care system. Lived with some good families, some not so good families. I struck out on my own, got an apartment, opened up shop. I didn’t know much about being a demon, but I knew I could kill ‘em.

“But Vergil, he did more than survive. He got stronger. When we were 19, he tried to take over the world. That was how I met Lady. She helped me stop him, and he fell into Inferno, into the demon world.”

“I thought nobody could get out of there,” Kyrie said. “How’s he back?”

Dante shook his head. “Don’t believe everything you read, red. One time, I even got trapped in Hell.”

Kyrie’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates. “We’ll unpack that later,” Nero said. “For now, how did he get back? And why did he want Yamato?”

“Yamato was his weapon, same as Rebellion was mine. Our father gave them to us when we were kids. We can’t access our full power unless we have our swords. But the sword he used against you was a shiny new toy he got from Mundus, which was why it hurt you.”

“Prince Mundus?” Kyrie asked. “I was always told your father sealed him away.”

“That’s right. Mundus found my brother in the Underworld, made him his slave. I didn’t even realize until I found the two on Mallet Island.”

Kyrie squinted. “Dante, don’t tell me you...beat Mundus?”

Dante smiled. “Indeed I did, sugar. And with the big boss gone, my brother was free to walk in the human world again.” 

That was a lot to take in for the young couple, whose facial expressions were a mix of awe, bewilderment, and shock. 

“Jesus **Christ** ,” Nero finally said. 

“How are you still alive?” Kyrie followed up with. 

“I’m not entirely sure. But I think you can figure out why I don’t talk about my family much.”

“No shit,” Nero whispered. “That’s...well, that’s a lot. So, your brother--this Vergil guy--was only trying to get the sword?” the young man inquired. 

“Probably. And if I’m right about Vergil, the jackass is probably gonna use it for something stupid. Like kill me or blow up the world, or whatever.”

“What are we gonna do?” Nero asked. 

“You two,” Dante said, pointing to the couple, “aren’t going to do anything.”

“Oh fuck **that** ,” Nero said. “I can help, you know I can. If he does anything--”

“It’s not a matter of if, but when,” Dante interrupted. “And let me worry about that. I’ve stopped him before, and I’ll do it again. But for now, it’s none of our concern. Because we have a job to do.”

“What if he’s there?” Kyrie asked. “Your brother, I mean. What if he comes after Nero?”

“Why would he?” the hunter replied. “He got the sword.”

“But your brother knows you fight demons, right? What if he’s there, waiting for you two?”

Nero hadn’t thought of that. “Shit, that’s a good point,” he mumbled. 

Dante considered it. “If he’s at Amon, no sweat. I’ll protect our chum,” he said, playfully punching Nero in the shoulder. 

“I **don’t** need protection.” Nero swatted Dante’s hand away. “I can take care of myself. He got the jump on me is all.”

“I’m afraid that’s not quite right,” Dante said. “He has Yamato now. He’ll be even stronger the next time you meet.”

Nero was practically fuming. Kyrie gave him a concerned look. “Nero, it’s alright to ask Dante for help.”

“No, it’s not alright! What if he comes after you, or the kids? How can I protect you if I need protection myself?”

“Easy there, kid,” Dante said. “I know my brother, that’s not his style. He doesn’t just go after random kids. He wants me. He wants a rematch.”

Kyrie shook her head. “I just don’t get it. I thought that was a long time ago.”

Dante sighed. _Ah, Temen-ni-gru. Good times_. “It was. Over 20 years ago, as a matter of fact. But my brother holds a grudge like no one else. Same as me.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Dante, and his blood went cold. At Temen-ni-gru all those years ago, Vergil was trying to get both of their amulets, to awaken the Force Edge. At Mallet Island, the Force Edge became the Sword of Sparda. The same sword that Trish used. 

“Shit, I have to make a call,” Dante said. “Where’s your phone?”


	7. Mission 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante checks in on Trish

“Dammit, where is she!”

Lady was practically tearing the shop apart. She threw open the third closet door in as many minutes. Coats, hats, gloves and miscellaneous Devil Arms were all tossed out in equal measure. 

“Lady, stop tearing the place apart. Let’s get out of here,” Trish flatly said. 

“No! I’m not leaving without her!”

“ **This** is why I never loan stuff to Dante,” the demon replied. “I still never got Artemis back,” she grumbled. 

Putting her sunglasses away, Trish looked around the shop. She still remembered that first day when she walked in. It must’ve been what, ten? Twelve years ago? It felt like last week. That was before Dante saved her, gave her the sword. Before she met Lady and Patty. 

Back then, the walls were barebones. A single portrait of Sparda’s family hung behind Dante’s desk, a constant reminder to Dante of who he was. Who he’d lost. Needless to say, Dante’s decorating had gotten much better and far, far less depressing. 

Hanging to the left of this portrait was Nevan, a thick coat of dust indicating that no, Dante does not, in fact, play it regularly. The frost nunchucks Cerberus and the decorative sword Vendetta hung underneath it. (To this day, Dante maintains that, no, he did not  **steal** the nunchucks back from Enzo, he is merely “secretly borrowing” it.)

To the right of the portrait, the wall was covered with photos of Dante and Patty, decorations courtesy of the girl herself. There were probably about ten or fifteen, but Trish was particularly fond of two: one where she was wearing his first coat, which came past her feet and draped onto the ground; and one on her twelfth birthday, a quiet, private celebration that she and Dante attended.

The devil hunter adorned the adjacent wall with even more photographs. He had at least one from each major adventure, plus a few of Nero and Kyrie. It was a bizarre sight for Trish to look at, a testament to how little she's changed over the years compared to her friends. 

In the corner of the main living room was an ajar wardrobe, which revealed the many, many scarlet coats Dante had collected over the years. On the top was a rather large piece of rubble with red carvings on it, which--depending on who you asked--was either a piece from the legendary Temen-ni-gru tower that Dante’s kept over all these years; or just a rock he found neat. 

The back shelf was dedicated entirely to more of these artifacts. The Crystal Skull and Stone Mask (both from the tower); a piece of Alastor that chipped off; the Wing Talisman from Fortuna; a Sacrilege from Dumary Island; and Dante’s amulet were all visible. 

Finally, the back wall next to the kitchen had a few miscellaneous firearms hanging off it. Nightmare-y, Coyote-A, the Needlegun and a crossbow were all proudly displayed. 

_ Wait, when did Dante get a crossbow? _

Before Trish could unpack that, the phone started ringing. 

Instinctively, she answered it, putting on her best customer service voice. “Devil May Cry, how may I assist you?”

She was met with a storm of laughter, screams and giggles. Amidst them all, a familiar voice called out her name. “Yo, Trish!”

“Dante? Where are you? And why do I hear kids?” 

“Turns out Nero and Kyrie have, like, a bajillion kids. Who knew?”

The blonde sat down on the desk. “Wait, why are you with Nero?” 

“Um, that’s kind of a long story.”

“Make it snappy.” Trish could hear Lady cursing and throwing around furniture in the other room. 

“What the hell are you two doing?” Dante asked. 

“Lady’s looking for Kalina Ann.”

“Tell her I’m never giving it up.”

“I’ll pass that on. Hey, when did you get a crossbow?”

“Found it.”

Trish blinked. “You  **found** a crossbow?” she repeated skeptically. 

“Hey, you don’t know everything about me.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Do you remember anything about my brother?”

Trish made a face. In a hushed tone, she asked, “Dante, what is this call about?”

A beat. “Vergil’s back.”

Trish paled. “Oh?”

Between her and Lady, Trish had never actually met Vergil when he was, well Vergil. All she knew was Nelo Angelo: the dark knight that towered over her and could effortlessly slay hundreds of demons without breaking a sweat. Trish was one of the few people to see Vergil’s prowess firsthand and live. 

She heard stories from Dante, about what his brother was like before Mundus got to him. Of Temen-ni-gru, of Arkham and the High Priestess. Of the amulets, and the Force Edge. 

Trish looked over to Dante’s amulet, hanging on the back shelf, then to her Sword of Sparda, propped against the front door. 

“Yeah. Nero fought him, got banged up pretty bad. That’s why I’m over here.”

“Jesus. Was Vergil…” she trailed off. 

“Angelo? No, it doesn’t sound like it. He’s back to himself.” 

That made sense. No Mundus around no one to control Vergil. But how did he survive?

“That’s a relief...I guess. You think he’s gonna come after the sword?”

“You read my mind,” Dante chuckled. “Figured I’d call in, check if you’ve seen anything fishy.”

Trish smiled. “Dante, I’m a big girl. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I know, blondie. Just thought I’d give you the heads up.”

“You gonna find him?”

“I’m gonna try,” Dante said. “Right now, I have some stuff to take care of with the kid.”

That surprised her. What was so important that Dante would put off finding his brother? “What are you and Nero doing? What kind of job is this?”

She heard a sigh on the other end. “I...I’m not even sure yet. But I think it might have something to do with my dad.”

"What?"

“Don’t worry about it. I gotta go. Just...stay alert, in case my jackass of a brother comes around.” 

"Dante--"

_ Click _ . 

The demon looked down at the phone, Dante’s words echoing in her ears. No matter the job, Trish found it highly unlikely that Dante would put off finding his brother for a wild goose chase. And what was it about his dad? And why would he bring Nero along? 

“Found her!”

A thunderous crash reminded Trish that she wasn’t alone in the shop. She turned around and found the dresser thrown on the floor, Lady reaching behind it and pulling out a rocket launcher almost as tall as her. She effortlessly picked up the massive weapon, cradling it in her arms like one would a child. “It’s good to see you, Kalina Ann.”

“Great, you found the thing. Now let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

Lady strapped the rocket launcher to her back. “What were you and Dante talking about? Is everything alright?”

Trish put on a smile. “Yeah, nothing to worry about.”


	8. Mission 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante and Nero finally hit the road.

Nero had a particular ritual whenever he went off on a job. 

It began back in Fortuna, after Sanctus and the Savior. He and Kyrie were two of the first people to volunteer for the rebuilding project. The people of Fortuna still didn’t trust Nero, and he couldn’t exactly blame them: he had a massive sword, a glowing demon arm, and a gun the size of their head, all of which he used to kill their Vicar and Holy General. But he had work to do, regardless. 

Everytime he left, he would clean and reload Blue Rose, checking for any deficiencies in the barrel or trigger. Next, he would fine-tune Red Queen. This usually meant taking her apart, cleaning her, sharpening her, and refilling the fuel capsule. Finally, he would give Kyrie a goodbye hug, his favorite part. 

Over the years, this ritual changed. 

Naturally, he and Kyrie started dating, and that goodbye hug turned to a goodbye kiss, then two, then five. 

Then, they moved off the island and got an apartment of their own, a short drive from Redgrave City. That place didn’t last too long; soon enough, the two were at the orphanage, and Nero set aside time for the little ones. He proposed not too long after, and Nero made time out of his morning to clean the wedding ring that Kyrie got him. 

Now, after a goodbye kiss (or a half dozen) from her, Nero also gave individual hugs to every one of the kids (Julio, Yumi, Ryker, Marcel, Isabel, Maria, Alana, and Juno), followed by one massive group hug. 

Today, that ritual went a bit differently. 

First, of all, Dante was present, telling Nero to “hurry the hell up” every step of the process. Annoying bastard. 

The kids seemed to like him, in their own special way. They bombarded him with a barrage of questions everytime he set foot in the kitchen. 

“Do you play an instrument?” Isabel shouted.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Yumi inquired. 

“Do you have kids?”

“Do you hunt monsters like Big Brother Nero?”

“Why are you so ugly?”

“Did Nero get hurt last night?”

“What’s your name?”

“Is that a sword?” Ryker exclaimed. “It’s so cool!”

Dante thought over it all for a moment. “Yes, yes, god no, yes, ouch, no, I’m Dante, and yeah it is pretty cool.”

Second, Nico had already gone to the liberty of cleaning and fine-tuning his weapons for him the day prior. After the battle with Vergil last night, Nero decided it was still a good idea to check Red Queen for any damage (on the off-chance Nero encountered that bastard again, he’d be ready). 

Taking apart the sword, Nero noticed a tiny slip of paper, tucked in-between the helm of the sword and the slit where he inserted the fuel capsule. It’s a miracle this thing didn’t fall out last night. Reaching in, he opened up the paper and saw a tiny message inside:

Call me if you ever need fixin’. 

01795-08-2001

Nico

Nero laughed. He didn’t know whether that was annoying, invasive as hell, pure genius, or top-notch advertising. Probably some combination of the four. 

And third, once he was done giving out hugs (and threatening Dante to never, **ever** let Ryker play with a sword again), Nero was pulled aside by Kyrie into their bedroom. 

“I wanted to give you this,” Kyrie said, reaching into their closet. “I meant to finish this as a birthday present, but now will do.”

Nero laughed. “Ah, babe, you don’t need to. It’s al…”

He trailed off when Kyrie pulled out the jacket. It was a long coat, with a hem that came down a bit past his old one, almost to his ankles. It was a dark, navy blue with splashes of green on the cuffs and back. Upon closer examination, he saw that the inside had an indigo lining to it. 

“Babe, what’s this?”

“Well, I saw that your old jacket got torn up, so I figured I’d give this to you now,” she said. “Go on,” she said, handing the coat to him. “See if it fits.”

Nero took Red Queen off his back and threw it on. The coat fit like a glove, like he was made to wear it. _I could die in this thing_. 

“Kyrie, I...I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” She gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “Just wear it, and think of me.” Suddenly, their earlier goodbye kisses didn’t feel like enough. 

Needless to say, Nero was a bit late getting out to the car. 

________________________________________________________________________

“What took you so long, kid? I thought I said to hurry up.” Dante was sitting in the driver’s seat of his RV, feet on the dashboard and a magazine in his hands. He whistled once he saw the new coat. “Nice threads.”

“Kyrie made it.”

Dante smirked. “She’s a keeper, alright.” 

Nero took a seat in the back, propping his sword up against the door. “Next stop: Amon.”

Dante turned the car on, reversing out of the driveway. “Yeah, about that...we’re swinging by my shop.”

Nero threw his hands in the air. “What the hell for?”

“I’m gonna pick up some things.”

The hunter groaned. “Terrific. You need another pizza, old man?”

“Not exactly.”

________________________________________________________________________

Dante was **not** pleased to find the mess that Lady left behind. 

Pizza boxes and beer bottles were scattered throughout the kitchen (okay, wait, that wasn’t her fault), the furniture had been turned over, and every closet door in the house was opened up, with coats and jeans decorating the floor. 

“What the hell is this?” he asked, exasperated. 

When Dante’s eyes met the turned-over dresser, and the distinct lack of Kalina Ann behind it, he nearly fell to his knees. “Dammit! I needed that!”

“I don’t get it,” Nero said, examining the mess. “What’s different?” he said, and Dante pretended not to notice his shit-eating grin. 

Dante sighed, weighing his options. “Shit, I’ll clean it up later,” he mumbled, knowing full well that he would probably not, in fact, clean up later. He made his way to the wardrobe in the corner and threw the oak doors open. Surely, he still had one of his old guns around here somewhere, right? 

“Alright, new plan.” 

Nero looked over Dante’s shoulder into the wardrobe. In addition to the faded jacket Dante currently wore, Nero saw four more: the black-and-red overcoat he wore on Dumary island; the brighter, more intricate crimson one he wore at Fortuna; the thinner one he wore as a teenager, with zippers on the sleeve and a belt around the waist; and the more basic coat he wore in his 20s, with black cuffs and an upturned collar. 

“Jesus, Dante, how many of these things do you have?”

“Not enough.” Reaching between two of the jackets, his fingers touched a familiar chrome surface. “Aha! Found it!”

Dante pulled out a new weapon, one that Nero had never seen. It was a strange silver cannon the size of his arm, at the top of which was a strange helmet-like shape and a pair of bright yellow eyes. 

“Look at this beauty,” Dante said. “Her name’s Artemis. I swiped her off Trish months ago. I don’t think she ever noticed.”

 _She noticed_ , Nero resisted the urge to say. “Was that all?” 

“Yeah. Wait, actually…” Dante trailed off. His attention moved to the weapons on his wall. Walking over, he took a tripartite nunchaku off the wall. They were cold to the touch, just the way he remembered. It'd been years since he used them last, and Dante took in a moment to appreciate the last time he used them. 

"Let’s hit the road,” Nero said, immune to the sentimentality. The young man practically ran out the door, Dante walking a few steps behind him at a leisurely pace. 

“Kids. Always in a rush these days.”

Dante turned around, and his eyes wandered to the family portrait in the middle of the room. He and Vergil were in the center, neither of them looking like they wanted to be there. Mom was standing next to them, golden hair draping down her red dress, a hand on Vergil’s shoulder. Dad was off to the side, with a lion’s mane of snowy hair and a violet coat that seemed more fit for royalty. 

As the albino examined the painted face of his father, his hand automatically flew to the bundle of photographs in his coat pocket. _Father, where are you?_

________________________________________________________________________

The two made some small-talk along the way, but for the most part, the trip was silent. After a couple hours, they stopped for gas, Nero switching Dante and taking over driving duties. 

A thought occurred to Nero as he turned back onto the freeway, drumming the fingers of his Devil Bringer on the steering wheel. “Are the girls coming?” 

In the backseat, the elder hybrid was pulling out the bundle of photos. “Nah, Trish is helping Lady out with something,” he said. “Highway patrol again.”

(Truth be told, Dante actually had no idea whether the girls were busy. It never occurred to him to even ask. But given the situation and Nero’s connection to the mark, Dante thought it’d be best if the kid came along this time.)

Nero adjusted the rearview mirror, getting a better look at the man behind him. Dante met his eye in the reflection. 

The hunter took Morrison’s photos and spread them out across the RV’s table, studying them closely. Despite the hair looking grayer and the skin looking paler, Dante couldn’t deny the resemblance: the man in these photos looked _a lot_ like his father. There **had** to be something more to this. But why now, after all these years? 

Dante picked up the latest photo, taken from only a few days ago, with the clearest shot of the shadowy figure. Not only did it look a lot like his father, but it looked a hell of a lot like Nero. Especially now that the kid had been growing his hair out; it was even shaggier than Dante’s, coming down almost to his shoulders. 

He wondered if his brother knew about the kid, or just wanted his sword. Or both. Dante wouldn’t put it above Vergil to test Nero’s strength if he **did** know, but he also thought it seemed a bit unlikely that Vergil would give a shit about that. 

“Why’d you want me to come along, old-timer?” Nero asked. 

“First of all, rude. Second of all, last time there were this many demon sightings in one area, Fortuna fell apart a week later. Figured if shit hit the fan, it’d be nice to have someone else along. Plus, like I said, the girls are off.”

Normally, Nero would be pissed to be Dante’s third choice (again), but this time, the anger never came. Dante’s explanation seemed almost **too** plausible. Forced, even. 

Doubt creeped into Nero’s mind. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that, even after everything they said at the house, Dante still wasn’t saying everything. And whatever it was, it had something to do with his brother, and with the phone call he made to Trish. Nerio shook his head, trying to push that thought away and just focus on the job at hand. If Kyrie was here, she’d laugh at him for being so paranoid about these things. 

For a brief, fleeting moment, a thought occurred to Dante:

_Maybe the kid’ll finally learn about his grandfather._

He wasn’t sure quite how much time had passed. Freeways turned to highways and highways turned to country roads. By the time Nero spoke again, the sun had set completely, consuming their path in darkness. 

“Dante, look.”

Dante poked his head out the window. On their tiny backroad, a small wooden sign read “Now Entering, Amon. Population: 20,000.”

“Fucking finally,” Dante whispered. 


	9. Mission 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero and Dante meet their clients, and Dante finally talks about Sparda.

“Where’d Morrison say to go?”

“Someplace called Gaumond’s, it’s a bed and breakfast. Straight ahead.”

As Dante directed Nero, it became hard for the older man to not lose himself in the town’s many sights. As they drove further and further, Amon shifted, from a tiny village with dirt roads and oak houses; to a small town, filled to the brim with tall trees and elegant stone-cut homes; and, eventually, to a city filled with marble statues and buildings that seemed to be taken right out of a history book. 

“Where now, old man?”

“Map says it’s just to the left.”

Nero practically leaped out of the car the second they parked. He held up his arms and leaned back, stretching his appendages and back, a bright smile on his face. “Jesus, it feels good to get out of that car,” he grunted with a crack of his back. 

“You’re so dramatic.” Dante tucked Cerberus away and pulled a sleeve down over Artemis, the cannon firmly strapped to his arm. Pulling out an old guitar case, he stowed Rebellion and the loaded Coyote-A away. Nero gave him a look. 

“What’re you doing?” the young man asked. 

Dante made a face. “Hiding my shit, kid. Don’t you think it’ll look strange if you walk around with a big-ass sword and a revolver the size of your head?”

Nero’s hand instinctively flew to the blade on his back and the gun on his belt. “Right,” he mumbled. “I knew that.”

On Fortuna, the use of weapons was permitted as long as one could prove that they were a member of the Holy Knights. He was used to tucking Blue Rose away, being that the officials weren’t a huge fan of firearms or any weapons that didn’t exist during Sparda’s time, but he’d never really thought of putting Red Queen away before a mission. Besides, most of the people who saw Red Queen were other Holy Knights themselves. 

Dante rolled his eyes. “Just leave your shit in the car if you can’t be discreet. And at least put some gloves on,” he said, gesturing to Nero’s Devil Bringer. Nero opted to simply pull down the sleeves of his coat and tuck the demonic hand in his pocket. 

Gaumond’s Bed and Breakfast was a tiny, cozy little cabin tucked away in the corner of the town. In that thick-ass file, Morrison had also given Dante a picture of the client. Theresa Gaumond was a tall woman, maybe an inch or so more than the hunter himself, with a well-muscled, steady frame. Long chestnut brown hair concealed the bags under her eyes and wrinkles around her cheeks, both of which the result of years of exhaustion. 

When Dante and Nero walked in, the place was rather empty. There were only a few other people there. Theresa came up to the two, a clipboard in one hand, a blue pen in the other.  “Hello! Can I get a room for you two tonight?” she asked. 

Dante and Nero looked at one-another. “You Theresa?” Nero asked. The young woman made a face. “Um, yes, but do I...know you?” she asked. 

“Actually, we’re here for a job,” Dante said. 

“A job?” Her voice revealed the slightest hint of optimism. 

“Yep I believe you reached out to a friend of mine.” Dante made no attempts to put on a “customer-service voice,” as Trish called it, but he was at least willing to entertain a bit of small talk and formalities before cutting to the chase. Company policy, really. “You know anyone named J.D Morrison?”

Her eyes widened, and her smile vanished. “Are you…?”

“Dante, at your service,” he said, giving her a salute. “I’m the owner of the Devil May Cry shop in Redgrave. We’ve been hearing a lot of talk about this place, and Morrison sent us to check it out.”

“And I’m Nero. We’re gonna help you folks out.”

The woman looked like she was about ready to cry. “Oh, thank you so mu--”

“But before we do that, I was hoping we could discuss some details,” Dante interrupted. “Is there anywhere private we can talk?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Please, come to my office. I’ll grab my brother.”

________________________________________________________________________

Thomas Gaumond was the one who made the call to Morrison. Thomas was shorter than his sister, but stood tall. With his short black hair in a crew cut and his olive-colored military jacket, he might’ve been mistaken for a soldier. He wore a serious expression, but the first thing Dante noticed about him was the warm, inviting gaze to his glassy eyes. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Dante,” Thomas said, shaking his hand. His voice was unexpectedly high, and he gave the faintest remnant of a smile to the devil hunters. Thomas reached over to shake Nero’s right hand, but Nero awkwardly kept it in his pocket and shook with his left hand instead. A flash of confusion crossed Thomas’ face, but he dismissed it just as quick. 

“We were wondering when you’d drop by,” he told the two. 

“We had to take care of a couple things first,” Dante replied, trying not to notice how Nero hung his head when he said that. 

“Well, in any event, we’re glad to have you here,” Thomas said. “Amon’s had it rough these last couple days. I’m not even sure what to believe anymore, but they say you’re the best.”

Dante nudged the silent Nero in his arm. “Hear that kid? I’m the best!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” Nero said with a wave of his arm. 

Theresa smirked. “Morrison didn’t tell us much about you, Dante. And he didn’t say you were bringing a partner. Where’d you come from, Nero?”

“Fortuna,” he blurted out. “I’m from Fortuna.”

Theresa’s face fell. Thomas gave his sister a concerned look. “What is it, Tess?”

“Haven’t you heard of it, Thomas? Fortuna was that island that fell apart a while back.”

Thomas looked back at the devil hunters. “That was you two?” he said, pointing fingers at Nero and Dante. 

Dante shrugged. “More or less, but let’s be honest, it was mostly me,” and he was promptly met with a shoulder to the chest. “Fine, fine, it was both of us,” he groaned. 

“Jesus,” Theresa said. “I can’t believe that happened. But hopefully, what we have in town isn’t that serious.” Theresa turned to Nero and elaborated, “Don’t worry. We know about demons.”

Nero exhaled a sigh of relief. “The Talk,” as he’d taken to calling it, was the worst part of his job. Devil May Cry was pretty blatant in its advertisement about being a supernatural extermination shop, but that didn’t mean people had the full picture, nor did they necessarily want it. More than once, some suburban family sleeping atop a hotspot of demons found their number and expected a bishop or exorcist to come along, not a 20-something with a massive sword and a gun. Having to explain that Yes, demons do totally exist, but No, they cannot be banished with prayer, holy water and a cross; was always a strange interaction. Some took the knowledge that Nero was packing heat in stride, and others had a religious crisis on the spot. Fun stuff. 

He’d spent his life raised on an island where demons were not just common knowledge, but outright  **worshipped** . Sure, he’d been to the mainland a few times, but it was always with other devil hunters or mercenaries. But once he and Kyrie set out on their own a couple years ago, it became clear just how much the outside world didn’t know about demons. Their knowledge was growing, sure, but there were still things that local authorities covered up. Hell, the Fortuna incident was officially reported as a 5.9 earthquake. 

“Or, rather, Tess knows about it,” Thomas said, pointing a thumb at his sister. 

“I went on a mission trip to Fortuna when I was 19,” she said. “The cover-up that happened two years ago was criminal, but I guess you already knew that,” she told Nero. “I know about the religion there, or at least, I think I do. But the way they talked about the demons...well, it wasn’t anything like what we saw in town.”

“What’d you see?” Dante asked, resting his elbows on his knees. 

Thomas and Theresa looked to one-another. “I saw a spider,” Theresa said, “but an absolutely massive one, the size of an 18-wheeler. On my way to Celestain, the other day. It was red, orange and black, the color of fire and blood.” She looked to Nero. “That’s not the sort of stuff they talked about on Fortuna, right?”

“...No,” Nero said, stroking his chin. “Certainly not.”

Recognition crossed Dante’s face. “That sounds like Phantom.” 

“Phantom?” Nero asked. “What’s that?”

“Not a what. A who. He was a General at Mallet Island.” Seeing the confusion on Theresa and especially Thomas’ face, Dante verbally backtracked. “Or, put simply, he’s a demon I thought I killed a while back.”

In the chair next to him, Nero remembered their conversation from the night prior. Mallet Island? The same place with Mundus and Nelo Angelo? 

Thomas scowled. “Look, you two, other townsfolk have seen that thing. They’re starting to talk. We made up some lie about a movie being filmed nearby, but they know that’s horseshit. Now, not everyone’s as open about this sort of stuff as we are. If word gets out, it’s gonna be a real shitshow down here.”

“We know,” Nero said. “That’s why we’ll find that thing and take it down before anything else happens.”

Dante looked to Nero, mentally weighing his options. The pictures of Sparda were practically burning a hole in his pocket. He didn’t want the kid to know this early, but he needed answers, and right now, it was looking like the Gaumond’s knew a thing or two. “Theresa, did you learn anything about Sparda during your visit to Fortuna?”

Theresa frowned. “The important things, yeah. Why?”

Dante pulled the bundle of photos and, to Thomas, explained, “Sparda was a demon that turned against demonkind and protected humanity. My broker sent me these photos that supposedly look like him.” 

“Know anything about that?” he asked the siblings. “It might reveal why there are so many demons here.”

Handing the photographs around, Dante caught wind of Nero’s face, which was located somewhere between Confused As All Living Hell and Mildly Pissed Off. The two made eye contact, and Dante had a realization:  _ Either we’re totally gonna have a heart-to-heart after this, or he’s gonna kill me _ . 

The siblings shook their heads, each holding one of the photos. “No, I don’t know anything about that,” Thomas said, “but this place looks kind of familiar.”

Dante looked at the photo he held. It was the oldest one, from a couple months ago. It was a bit blurry, but Dante could just barely make out a white building in the background. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Yeah. That looks like the capitol building, in Celestain,” he offered, handing the picture back. “I used to work there. But sorry, I don’t know anything else.” 

“Where’s that?” Nero asked. 

“It’s our sister city,” Theresa said. Pointing out the office window, she explained, “It should just be a few miles down that road. Our downtown and their uptown are really close together, it’s kinda like one big area.”

Dante frowned, but he at least knew more about his father’s activities. He gladly took the photographs back and put them in his coat pocket. “Thanks for all the help, you two,” he said sincerely. “Nero and I’ll find that thing and get rid of it, plus anything else along the way. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of this.”

The albino picked up his guitar case and rose from his seat. Theresa pointed at the case, a small smile on her lips. “You play?” she asked. Dante lifted the case up and down, feeling the weight of the shogun and broadsword inside. “Something like that,” he replied with a smirk. 

Nero turned around and approached the door. As he reached for the doorknob, Thomas said, “Would you two like a room tonight?”

The hunters turned towards each other, exchanging looks. “Please, it’s the least we can do,” Theresa said, “for all your help.”

“Lady, we haven’t--” Nero began. 

“Ok, sure,” Dante interrupted. “I wouldn't mind a hot shower.”

Nero rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash. “Oh, no, please, it’s on the house,” Theresa said. Dante lit up, but Nero put the cash in her hands regardless, much to the older man’s confusion. 

“Please, I insist,” Nero said. 

Theresa reluctantly, slowly took the money, admiring the young man before her. “Thank you, both of you. We mean it.”

Nero smirked. “We know. What rooms are open?”

________________________________________________________________________

As Nero got his stuff out of the car--a change of clothes, Red Queen, Blue Rose, and some shampoo, conditioner and toiletries--Theresa showed Dante around to their room. Every inch of Gaumond’s felt homely; it was a toasty little cabin made of oak wood that smelled like pancakes, evergreens and ginger, and it practically glowed with that small-town charm. 

They were in Room 24, on the second floor. As Theresa ascended the stairs, Dante close behind her, she said, “I was unaware that people in your line of work tend to have kids.”

Dante shot her a look. “Whaddya mean, Tess?”

Theresa frowned. “Please, just call me Theresa. Only my brother calls me Tess. And I mean that young man, Mr. Dante.” 

The mercenary laughed. “It’s just Dante, first of all. And second, the kid’s not mine.”

Theresa blushed and shook her head. “Oh, goodness, I’m sorry. I--I just thought, with the hair and all…” she let her words linger in the air like a Christmas ornament. 

Dante waved a hand, as if to say Forget about it. “I’ve gotten that once or twice,” he told her. Playing with a strand of his own white hair, he couldn’t deny the resemblance. She was close, but a bit off the mark. 

They got to the room; a golden “24” was written across the top of the door. “Is he an apprentice of some sort?” she asked innocently. Dante scratched his head. 

“Something like that,” Dante said. “I got sent to Fortuna when it all went to hell. I didn’t see him for a while, but he came back to town recently and I took him under my wing a bit.” 

She opened the door to make sure it worked, and then handed the key to Dante. “Well, it sounds like you both have lived quite exciting lives. Breakfast ends at 10 tomorrow, if you’re up by then,” she said, and then walked away. 

After closing the door behind him, making sure to leave it unlocked for Nero, Dante started removing his weapons. He put Ebony and Ivory on his bedside table for quick use, should he need them in the middle of the night. On the dresser, he opened up his guitar case and took out Coyote-A, a handful of shotgun shells, and Rebellion, the broadsword faintly shining under the dim lights. On the bed, Dante took out Artemis and Cerberus. 

_ I didn’t think such high-level demons would be around _ , he realized.  _ I should’ve brought more shit _ . Dante thought back to Nevan, hanging on his wall; it was probably a more appropriate item to put in a guitar case, anyways.  Sprawling on the bed next to his nunchucks and arm-cannon, Dante stared up at the ceiling fan, going around, around, around in circles. These long drives to new towns always exhausted him.  _ It’s so much better just knocking the whole mission out in one day _ , he thought. These beds were a bit too comfy; it felt like he was sinking into a cloud. 

Dante was pulled out of his thoughts when the door was kicked open. Nero came in, dragging behind him Red Queen in one hand and an overstuffed suitcase in the other, making no attempt to hide the oversized sword or his Devil Bringer. Dante remembered their earlier nonverbal interaction, and was quick to apologize. Or, at least, he tried to. “Now, now, kid, I know you’re probably mad--”

“Mad?” Nero shouted, slamming the door behind him. “Dante, you knew all along this was more than just a hunt!” 

“I know, I know,” Dante said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, I knew this was just a goose chase--”

Nero wrinkled his nose, nostrils flared. “A goose chase?  **Fuck** no,” he told him. “I don’t care that we’re going after Sparda, or whatever that spider thing was.”

Dante furrowed his brow. “Wait, kid, you aren’t mad?”

Nero laughed. “Of course I’m mad, Dante! But not about your father.” A sigh escaped him. “I always thought your old man was dead. The Order talked about him like he was a martyr. Hell, if I could see my dad right now, I’d take the chance.” Guilt shot through Dante like hot lead, but he tried to ignore it. 

“I’m  **livid** , old man, because you’re still treating me like I’m some sidekick. I work on my own, remember?  **You** invited me to this without telling me the whole story,” he said, pointing at the red-clad man, “because you don’t fucking trust me.”

Dante ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, kid, the reason I invited you is  **because** I trust you.” 

Nero’s anger evaporated. “W-what? You trust me, more than you trust Lady? Trish?”

“Well, no, but I trust you in different ways,” Dante gave.  _ Because you’re family _ , he thought. 

“I saw you at the island, remember, kid? I know what you can do.” He made a vague hand gesture. “You’re right, okay? I never even asked if they were busy or not, but I didn’t think I needed to. I thought you alone would be enough. And I wanted to give you some experience on a bigger job.”

Nero sat down on the bed, putting his gun next to Dante’s. “Really?”

And, to be honest, Dante wasn’t exactly lying. He  **did** know what Nero was capable of. He saw him during the final fight against Sanctus. Hell, he even fought the kid twice back at Fortuna. But that wasn’t it, not really.  _ It’s because I want you to meet your grandfather,  _ Dante thought. 

The image of Phantom lingered with Dante as he spoke. That flaming tarantula was dead; Dante killed him over a decade ago. But that didn’t mean he was the only one of his kind. There could be more like him, more high-level demons in town he’d need to fight. It’d been a long, long time since Dante thought of any of those enemies from Mallet Island. 

Truth be told, it was probably good that Trish didn’t come along. Dante still wasn’t entirely sure how she was made, to be honest; while she was an entirely different being compared to Eva, her connection to the late mother might prove problematic.  _ Seeing my father might trigger something in her _ , Dante realized. (Besides, he wanted to spare her of any painful reminders from Mallet, whatever they might be.)

“What was that thing you were talking about?” Nero asked, calming down. “Phantom?”

“It was one of Mundus’ generals,” Dante explained. “I killed him a while back.”

“You think it’s the same demon?” Nero asked. The young man removed his socks, shoes and coat, before crawling into bed in just his jeans and a t-shirt. 

“Couldn’t be,” Dante said, and nothing more. 

Nero yawned. “Well, I drove for four hours today. Whatever it is, we can figure it out in the morning.”

And for once, Dante was inclined to agree with the young man. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I got this one out a few days later! I got kinda busy with other projects, and tbh just some personal stuff in my life. But it's done! Enjoy! 
> 
> How'd yall like that reference to DMC1 with Phantom ;) I promise the next couple chapters are gonna be really action-packed and not so dialogue-heavy!


	10. Mission 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante and Nero are confronted by two demons

Dante just wanted one thing, one goddamn thing, and it was to get a good night’s sleep. 

But, in his particular line of work, that seemed like a hard thing to come by. 

“DANTE! NERO!”

The two awoke to frantic knocking at their door and a familiar voice, accompanied by heavy footsteps and a rumbling. “Get up you two!”

Nero bolted out of bed, grabbing Red Queen and Blue Rose along the way. He threw the door open, revealing an exhausted Theresa, breathing heavy, as if she sprinted over here. Her long hair was a mess, covering the left half of her face, her eyes were wide with fear. 

“You gotta help us,” she said. “They’re here.”

A loud crash outside shook the entire building, knocking the power out and plunging the world into darkness. Dante grabbed his arsenal and ran out the door, a few steps behind Nero. The three of them rushed out into the central hallway of the Gaumond’s cabin. Guests were pouring out of their rooms in various states of dress, with expressions ranging from confused to terrified. He didn’t know if the terror came from him, or the demons outside. “Everyone, get back in your rooms!” Nero shouted. 

As they approached the door, they slowed their pace. The crashes increased in volume, but maintained the same pace.  _ Footsteps,  _ Dante realized. Placing a hand on Theresa’s shoulder, he commanded, “Stay here, Tess.”

Once Nero and Dante got outside, they saw the source of the commotion. Two massive demons emerged from the thick forest. One of them was a monstrous giant of flesh and metal, with bloated arms as big as cars and dull teeth the size of stalactites. It’s body crackled with an electrical charge, illuminating gray eyes and yellow skin. 

A few meters to the left, another devil revealed itself. It had massive claws, whiskers as long as power cables, a line of razor-sharp fangs, and orange fur. It looked as if God made a tiger and then took a hard left into the ugly territory. A fiery aura surrounded it’s body, lighting up the cold night and revealing a battered face consumed by spikes and blades. The demon’s entire left arm was a massive rotating sword that looked akin to a chainsaw. 

“Son of Sparda,” the fiery demon cried out. It’s voice was a hideous growl that sounded like a chain smoking lion. It’s cobalt eyes, blazing with murderous intent, were dead set on Dante. 

“Hey, kitty!” Dante said excitedly, sounding much like a little boy in a pet store. “You want some catnip? I got a bag in my car.”

The creature swung its bladed arm. Dante leapt into the air with all the agility of a gymnast, narrowly missing the strike by a few centimeters. He landed behind the feline demon, sword drawn in his left hand and aiming Artemis with the other. 

“You dare mock me, kin of Sparda!” the bladed feline shouted. “I am Zagan the Hexbreaker, rival of Argosax in the Golden Age! I will be your bane!”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, if I had a nickel…”

“Dante, you wanna take that one?” Nero asked. He pointed Red Queen to the lightning giant across from him. “I can take ugly over here.”

“Knock yourself out, kid,” Dante replied. “I’ll draw the kitty away from this place.” Zagan turned around, literally spitting fire, before charging at Dante, who assumed a defensive stance and blocked the attack from the chainsaw-esque arm. The momentum still pushed the two of them back into the forest and out of Nero’s line of sight. 

Watching the exchange, Nero twisted the handle to Red Queen. The weapon came to life with a powerful roar of the engine, which quickly became a low purr. To his opponent, he asked, “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name, what was it again?” 

The behemoth roared in response. Nero raised both eyebrows. “What is that, German?” he quipped. 

The creature threw a punch at Nero, but the albino leaned back at a 90 degree angle, as if going under a limbo pole, and the attack missed. Leaning back further, Nero put his free hand on the ground and transitioned into a back handspring, giving him room to dodge the follow-up kick. Nero landed several feet away from the monster, unscathed. 

The crack of a gunshot roared behind Nero, and he saw the bullet sail through the air into the monster’s eye, before bouncing off, useless. Blue Rose remained at his belt, unholstered and unfired. 

Looking behind him, Nero saw Thomas frantically reloading his hunting rifle, sights aimed at the creature. To the man’s left was his sister, holding a baseball bat and ready to charge. The Gaumond siblings were illuminated by candlelight, faces wide with fear. 

“Both of you, get the hell ba--” 

The moment his back was turned, the giant swung another fist into Nero’s back, knocking the wind out of him. An electrical current went through his body, and he became acutely aware of how fast he was sailing through the air. 

After being airborne for nearly ten seconds, the devil hunter landed in the town plaza, leaving behind what could best be described as a little Nero-shaped indent in the concrete. He didn’t break anything (miraculously), but he was definitely bruised, and the wind was knocked out of his system. Looking around, Nero noticed that he’d landed in the central part of town, where the homely cabins and thick pine trees became gleaming white buildings and marble statues. 

Nero didn’t have much time to appreciate the scenery. The giant came crashing down from its own supersonic leap, and it landed on the other end of the block. Nero sighed and leapt to his feet. 

“Humans should not be able to withstand my attacks.” The creature’s voice was less of a growl like Zagan, and more of a thunderous roar, one that shook the ground beneath Nero’s boots. 

“Ah, he speaks!” Nero proclaimed. “Thank goodness. It’s just so hard maintaining a conversation on my own, ya know?”

“Words will not save you, meatbag.”

“Damn, I’ve heard some pretty scathing insults in my time, but ‘meatbag’ is definitely in the top three.”

The creature put its arms together. White-hot lightning moved into and out of the knuckles (or, whatever those things were), creating a circular loop of electricity. “In the Netherworld, I am called Oriax the Raydriver.” 

“Charmed. I’m Nero.” And with that, Nero aimed his gun at the demon’s head. 

“Firearms have no effect on me, meatbag.”

“Wanna bet?” Nero squeezed the trigger; with a spurt of blood, Oriax’s eye was gone, and the giant’s hand flew up to the gaping hole that was left behind. “Blue Rose is a beauty, all right,” Nero said, a wicked grin sprawled on his face. “She fires two rounds with each shot; one to shatter that protective shell around you demons, and one to strike where the shell broke. It’s twice the firepower, and way more damage.” 

With a crackle of electricity, the blood stopped. Oriax took his hand away, revealing that the eye was regrown.  _ Okay, so he can regenerate,  _ Nero thought with a nod. _ Cool _ . 

Having finally realized the inelegance of speech, Oriax opted to simply attack. He charged forward and threw another punch at Nero, who ducked to the right and ran forward, running Red Queen along the monster’s arm in the process. It left a bleeding, burning gash, and gave Nero a chance to rev his sword again. 

Going on the offensive, Nero launched a few diagonal slashes at the monster’s center, spending his two Exceed charges in the process. Oriax took a step back; he still got slashed on the stomach and arms a few times, but just as many were avoided.  _ He’s quick _ , Nero realized.  _ Quicker than I thought. I need to finish this fast _ . 

Putting Blue Rose away to free up his right hand, Nero aimed at the giant’s face with his Devil Bringer, which shone a pale blue. An astral hand shot out of the arm and latched onto Oriax’s face; at the same time, Nero bent his knees and prepared to jump. He leapt off the ground, higher and faster than any normal human could’ve, just as the Devil Bringer pulled him up, like a reverse bungee jump. It was a maneuver Nero could’ve done in his sleep. 

He soared fifteen, twenty, forty feet, reaching Oriax’s ugly, rectangular snout in a heartbeat. Nero twisted his sword’s handle one more time, and the blade lit up with a spectacular fire. Throwing all of his might into this strike, Nero swung downwards, aiming to cleave it’s skull in half. 

At the exact second the blade made contact, Oriax charged all of his electrical energy into his head. Nero was launched away from the sudden blast of electricity, arms spasming in the wind. This time, he soared in more of a downwards arc, slamming into the limestone wall of a nearby bookstore.  _ That was...unexpected _ . 

Nero hit the ground with a thud. The landing didn’t hurt this time nearly as much as the shock, but he’d heal quickly. Hopefully. 

Although the young man groaned in pain, he felt a bit of satisfaction at the sight of the giant’s face, a wide gash between the eyes, with the skin burning on both ends. It wasn’t the killing blow he intended, but it was something. 

“The Fortuna Warrior,” Oriax said. “I didn’t realize my opponent.”

“Oh, you know me?” Nero asked, looking down at his arm.  _ A dead giveaway _ . “Well, that’s nice to know. You want an autograph?”

The giant stepped back, its stubby, thick legs crossing into the parking lot of a small grocery store. Oriax picked up a yellow car to his right and threw it with all the effort of a child throwing a baseball. Nero leapt from his position on the ground, Red Queen drawn and ready with two hands, and cut the car in half before it could crush him. With their momentum altered, the two flaming halves of the vehicle kept going; one into a nearby lamppost, and one into the corner of the bookstore. 

Once the car was torn in half, Oriax revealed a new move. He gathered lightning in the palm of his claw, shaped it into a lightning bolt, and launched it at the still-airborne Nero. The hunter shifted himself in the air and just  _ barely  _ dodged it by going into a corkscrew position, his body curling around the lightning without touching it. 

Nero landed back on the ground, and looked in the window of the bookstore. His shoulder-length hair was standing up where the electricity grazed him, making him look like an albino Marge Simpson. 

“Huh,” Nero said, admiring his reflection. Looking back to Oriax, he pointed to his head. “What do you think? Am I pulling this off?”

At this point, he and the demon were now on opposite sides of the street, empty except for some flaming wreckage. Nero pulled Blue Rose out of his belt and shot a few more times, hitting Oriax in the head, the arm, the heart. The demon seemed unfazed. A bit pissed, in fact. With another flash of lightning, the wounds were healed. 

Oriax reached over and grabbed a nearby streetlight, swinging it like a baseball bat. Nero instinctively held up his sword to block, before wisening up and jumping out of the way.  _ Red Queen’s tough, but not that tough _ , he thought to himself.  _ That strike will split it in half _ .  _ I can’t block, not now.  _

“You’re faster than I thought, and maybe a tad smarter,” Nero said, putting Blue Rose away. “But alas, you’re still ugly.”

Oriax tried another few horizontal swings, charging electricity into each one for extra impact. The lamplight was long enough that even with an entire empty street between them, each swing was only a hair away from hitting Nero. He might’ve been able to take it, maybe, but this fucker was strong. Each hit meant getting knocked into another part of town at the speed of sound, which meant more damage to Amon and more potential casualties.  _ I can’t get hit, not again _ .  _ I need to end this now _ . 

Nero started to slow, baiting Oriax into taking a killing blow. Once the giant raised the lamplight, preparing for a devastating vertical swipe, Nero acted. He twisted his handle--putting another Exceed charge in Red Queen--and raised his Devil Bringer again, projecting a massive astral hand, at least two times bigger than the first, to catch the lamplight. With his spare claw, Oriax threw another bolt of lightning at Nero, but the hunter saw it coming. He adjusted his footing, bent his shoulders, flipped Red Queen into a reverse grip, and let loose. 

He called it “Streak.” It was a move he came up with when he first got the sword, and still one of his fastest, most destructive attacks. With a charge of Red Queen, it was even stronger. Nero darted forward, well out of range of Oriax’s lightning bolt; he spun around like a top, fast enough that he couldn’t be seen, fast enough that he couldn’t be hit. He was at the devil’s heels in an instant, cutting apart his legs like a hot knife through butter. 

Oriax fell to his knees, then crumpled like a ragdoll. Nero got back just in time before he got crushed; the impact of the giant made a loud Boom, knocking up dust and sending waves through Nero’s legs. 

Nero stepped forward. He got an even better look at the head wound he left behind earlier. The gash was healing, but much slower; the wound was exposed enough that the protective shell around it was practically gone, giving a prime opportunity for a killing blow. Red Queen had used up all of its juice, but he didn’t need it. Even without a charge, Oriax was defenseless enough to be killed. 

...this was an assumption that Nero would come to regret. Once he took another step, Oriax jerked his neck at Nero’s direction, mouth wide and teeth bared. Nero jumped back with catlike reflexes, but the demon snagged onto his sword with its canines. When Nero tried to pull back, Red Queen’s blade snapped in half, the steel sticking out of Oriax’s mouth. 

_ SHIT! _

As Oriax tried to lunge in for a second chomp, Nero stepped on the chunk of his sword that remained in the giant’s mouth and jumped onto his face, stabbing the remnant of Red Queen into the gash he left from earlier. The demon’s eyes went wide, before receding. It’s mouth fell open, and black blood poured from the wound. 

“Damn it,” Nero gasped. “I loved that sword.”

He exhaled deeply, pulling the sword (well, what was left) out of the demon’s head. It was over. Reaching down, he pried the torn-off edge of Red Queen from the giant’s mouth and turned around, beginning to walk away. 

“War...rior…”

Nero turned around, holding each half of Red Queen in one hand. “As long as you’re still alive, can you reimburse me for my sword?”

Oriax gasped, coughed. “Andro...meda...was...right. Kin...of...Spar...da.” Nero rolled his eyes, then shot it in the head. 

The demon gave one final, weak breath, and then the life escaped its gray eyes. It turned to dust, unleashing one final, massive shockwave of post-mortem lightning. Where the monster once laid was a massive lance. The Raydriver. The Devil Arm was a massive weapon, as long as Nero was tall, with a yellow tip and a lightning symbol branded on the shining iron. With a short handle and a blade thicker than some trees, it was probably better as a club than a sword. 

Nero walked over, picking up the lance. He held it in his hand, testing out the weight. A bolt of lightning went through it, but instead of harming Nero, it seemed to supercharge the weapon itself, breathing life into it. “Well...that’s new.” 

He looked at the weapon, his face reflected in the iron. Oriax’s words played on his mind in a loop. “Now who the fuck is Andromeda?” 


	11. Mission 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante gets some new toys

While Nero took care of Oriax, Dante dealt with Zagan. Or, rather, he sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him away from the Gaumond’s, the demon hot on his trails. 

As it turns out, having a massive cleaver for a leg made it difficult for Zagan to run. Dante wasn’t exactly the most in-shape guy, and he  _ detested  _ running almost as much as he did black olives on an otherwise perfect pizza, but he was making pretty good pace, and certainly outpacing the monster on his heels. 

After about a minute, he broke out of the forests and into a clearing, just on the edge of town. Stores, buildings and farms lined the background, but for the most part, it was just Dante and this devi; for miles. 

“Jackpot,” Dante said as he observed the clearing, back facing Zagan. “This should be out of harm’s way.” He turned around, Rebellion drawn in one hand and Cerberus in another. Zagan roared in responde. Both combatants prepared to charge. 

The standoff was promptly interrupted with a loud  _ thunk _ , and the sight of Nero getting launched into town square by Oriax’s electric-charged punch, followed by the giant jumping after Nero seconds later. Dante and Zagan, both slightly slack-jawed, watched the interaction. 

Dante shook his head. “Kids,” Dante tisked. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.” He turned to Zagan. “I get the feeling you know what I mean, kitty. You got any kids?”

Zagan’s roaring voice was in Dante’s Top 5 list for Demons That Most Need a Lozenge. “In the Netherworld, I have over a thousand offspring, Son of Sparda, all bred to rid the mortal world of the disease known as humanity.” 

Dante smacked his lips. “Well...that’s nice, I guess. Christmas must be a pain in the ass, huh?”

Zagan swung at Dante. Each claw on his left paw was the side of a sword, and it would’ve torn the hunter to shreds had he not parried it with Rebellion. The attack still rattled him to his bones, and sent him flying back a few feet. 

“Kitty, I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t want to talk.” He touched his heart. “That hurts right here, you know.”

Dante lunged forward, performing a Stinger with Rebellion. Zagan tried to dodge the move and swat Dante away once the hunter lost his momentum, but Dante was faster; he managed to stab the tiger in the leg and then jump in the air with inhuman reflexes and avoid the counterstrike. 

Once in the air, Dante put Cerberus away and rolled up the sleeve of his coat, revealing Artemis. As he fell, he fired off a couple rounds at Zagan’s head, before landing on the devil’s back. Dante swung his sword into the demon’s spine, eliciting a roar of pain from the monster. Zagan tried to shake him off: he ran in circles, leaped dozens of feet in the air, and turned his whole body while airborne. Alas, Dante was just having too much fun. 

“You know, I’ve never gotten the appeal of rodeo until now,” Dante said in his usual carefree demeanor. 

Zagan’s long tail curled around, swatting Dante from behind and knocking the hunter off his back. Dante hit the ground with a boom, Rebellion left behind in Zagan’s spine. Dante quickly jumped to his feet, shaking some of the dust off his coat. A light breeze moved through the clearing, making Dante’s cloak wave in the air like Superman’s cape. He felt the cold brush of Cerberus in his coat pocket, and an idea was forming. 

Dante examined Zagan’s injuries, his mind working quickly. A few purple and red holes remained in the devil’s face from Artemis, but they were little more than dots on a canvas.  _ But it will create a distraction.  _ Dante aimed his arm-cannon and fired a half dozen more shots at the demon. Zagan blocked them with his arm-blade and swung with the same arm. Dante flipped back to dodge the attack. 

Once he landed, he extracted the nunchucks from his coat. “Haven’t done this in a while, but here we go,” he said with a devilish grin. 

Dante swung the nunchucks into the air, and slammed them into the ground. The tip of the first prong hit the earth at a perfect angle, and the soil absorbed the Arm’s cold demonic energy like a lightning rod. Ice surged throughout the clearing: pale grass, crushed flowers, muddy puddles and gray pebbles all froze instantly and indiscriminately. 

From the point of impact, the ice took on a more unified shape. The ice gathered into a spike, then another, then a third, each growing in size and with sharper and sharper tips. In the blink of an eye, a row of ice spikes made their way to Zagan’s chest. The demon had no time to react. He was impaled in an instant, once in his chest where his heart (presumably) was, and one in his front left paw. 

Zagan once again let out a howl of anguish and anger, the sound of cornered and defeated prey. “Huh, I thought you said my magic wouldn’t work on you,” Dante said, smug as a snake. As he watched the demon struggle, his expression turned almost melancholic. He let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll put you down.”

The infernal demon snarled, gnashing his fangs. “Son of Sparda, you’ll pay for this. I am the Queen’s top commander.”

Either not paying attention or not caring, Dante gave a mock salute. “Adiós, muchacho.”

“You’ll regret the day your father ever sowed his seed--”

Dante threw Rebellion like it was a javelin, directly into the monster’s eye. With a disgusting  _ squelch _ , the broadsword was sticking out of Zagan the Hexbreaker’s face. One last sigh escaped it’s jaws, before it stopped struggling, slumped up against the icicle that wounded it so greatly. 

He put Cerberus back in his coat pocket, and the ice started melting instantly. In seconds, puddles of brown water and red blood were forming at Dante’s feet. The corpse of Zagan turned to dust, and Rebellion hit the ground with a  _ clang _ . Dante held out his hand and, once more, concentrated reserves of demonic energy into his hand. He called the sword’s name, and it came to him in a flash. 

But a new weapon was there with it. On the ground, underneath the tallest icicle Cerberus created, Dante noticed the Devil Arm. It had a rusty look to it, but it seemed functional. Whatever the hell it was. From where Dante was standing, it just looked like a metal cube with a handle on top. 

Dante picked it up by the handle, examining it. “What a hunk of junk,” he said. 

On a hunch, Dante charged demonic energy into the handle, like he did to call his sword. That did the trick. The cube unfolded instantly, releasing the sound of ancient steel on rusted iron, and some groans that sounded like a giant dying. Before he knew it, Dante was looking at a full-fledged chainsaw, with a blade almost as long as Rebellion’s. 

Dante nodded, a bit of childish glee in his eyes. “That’s sick as hell.”

The handle Dante was holding onto from the top became a latch on the left side. A string came out of the right side, and without thinking, Dante pulled on it. The Arm roared to life, the rust practically disappearing as the metal blade ignited. Fire consumed each nick on the chain, filling the night air with light and warmth. 

The name came to Dante without thinking. “Hexbreaker,” he mouthed. 

_____________________________________________________________

It took about half an hour of searching before Dante found Nero. He just had to follow the trail of broken cars and decimated street corners. In fact, he probably could’ve found the kid sooner if he didn’t leisurely walk the whole way, whistling an old jazz tune his dad used to play. 

Dante rounded the corner and saw Nero, breathing heavy and covered in blood but no worse for wear. The first thing Dante noticed were his hands: in one, he held what looked like the handle of Red Queen with nothing else attached; and in the other, he held a large yellow lance, a slight electrical current pulsating from the tip. 

Dante leaned against the building corner, propping his foot against the wall. “Call me crazy, but I’m starting to suspect you beat him.”

“What gave it away?” Nero asked. “This?” He held up Red Queen. “Or this?” He held up Raydriver. 

“That his Devil Arm?” 

Nero made a face, and tried to remember what his adversary's arms looked like. “Devil Arm?” 

Dante waved his hand. “It’s when...actually, nevermind, you can figure it out.” 

Nero did, in fact, figure out the basics from his encounter with Oriax. “It’s pretty,” he said. “Don’t have much use for it, though.” Nero examined the weapon, before throwing it Dante’s way. The older man grabbed it out of the air. 

“The hell you mean, kid? It’s a sword with lightning. What’s not to love?” 

Nero shrugged. “Not my style. It’s yours.”

Dante’s face lit up. “Hell to the yeah.” 

It was around this moment that Nero noticed the massive chainsaw strapped to Dante’s back. “Take it you found one too?”

“Yeah. It’s name is Hexbreaker.” Nero raised an eyebrow. “What’s this one?”

Nero shook his head, shoulders raised and arms extended, as if to say ‘I don’t fucking know.’

The name came to Dante like a whisper in the air. Raydriver. He held both Devil Arms, one in each hand as if they were a stem of grapes. He closed his eyes, and focused his demonic energy. It was like when he called Rebellion, but instead of channeling the energy out of him and into his sword or hand, he brought the energy  **into** him. The Arms responded accordingly, an answer to a question he never asked. He tried to visualize both demons, and then the weapons they became after defeat. The massive, gray bloated giant and the fiery, bladed cat. The lance and the saw. 

Both arms turned to dust, just like their demon forms once were, but instead of falling to the ground, the dust seemed to go into Dante’s fingers, his hands, his arms. Energy circulated up his arms, yellow and red and orange. He stored the weapons away, but he could call upon them at any time. A neat party trick when he didn’t feel like carrying them. 

Dante shivered. Doing that always sent a tingling down his spine. “You know, I used to have a sword like that myself.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Found it one Mallet Island. Alastor, it was called.” Dante’s face turned nostalgic. “That was a tough fight. Good times.”

Nero cocked his head to the side. “How’d you lose it?”

“Sold it.”

Nero nearly choked. “You  **sold** a Devil Arm?” Dante stared blankly. Nero chuckled. “I hope you at least made some buck on it.”

Dante nodded. “Yeah. I got 400 pounds from that.”

Nero looked at his mentor like he’d grown two heads. “You sold a demonic sword that shoots out electricity...for 400 pounds?”

The son of Sparda narrowed his eyes. “Why? Is that too much?”


	12. Mission 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero and Dante go back to the cabin

The walk through downtown Amon was, in a sense, enlightening. With Dante by his side and the two halves of Red Queen in each hand, Nero strolled at a slow pace, making sure to take in the carnage of his fight with Oriax. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and the blood was dry, Nero could see with fresh eyes just how destructive it had been. 

“Dante?

“Hm?”

“I might’ve gone a bit too far.”

“Maybe.”

Overturned cars and bikes, buildings crushed into brick and stone and dust and glass. Heaps of metal lining the roads, streaks of black courtesy of Red Queen’s Exceed attacks crisscrossing what was left. Bullets, bullet holes, bullet casings. Craters. Footprints in the stone. Stoplights, thin saplings, marble statues all toppled over indiscriminately. Yep, definitely the remains of a devil fight. 

“Let’s get back to those two,” Nero muttered. “Probably wondering what the hell we’re doing.”

“Agreed.”

Fun fact: it took Nero and Dante ten minutes to walk back to the Gaumond’s bed and breakfast from the ruins of town square. It took ten seconds for Oriax to punt Nero there in the first place. 

The walk back was a metamorphosis, as Amon evolved from smooth limestone and paved roads into dirt paths and wooden homes. Amidst a thick forest of pine trees, the Gaumond’s cabin lit up the night. Every light had been turned on, every window filled with lamps and gaslights and silhouettes of guests frantically running about. 

They found the cabin’s main door slightly ajar, sounds of shouting and screaming on the other end. Dante and Nero poked their heads in, one after another, and found Thomas trying to quell the concerns of the many guests. 

Theresa threw the door open, nearly pulling the slab of wood off its hinges. “What the hell was that?” she asked Nero. Then to Dante, she said, “Wait, scratch that, what were either of those things?”

Nero looked past her at the guests in the main lobby. Travelers from all sorts of towns. Scribes, engineers, doctors. Couples looking for a romantic getaway. Families with little kids. None of them looking particularly happy. 

“Let’s talk somewhere more private,” he told her, instinctively hiding his right hand in the pocket of his new coat. 

______________________________________________________________________

  
  


“Just what the hell was that thing?” Theresa’s voice no longer had the same fear when she woke Dante and Nero in the middle of the night. Her tone was angry, but not at them. Her arms were crossed, those brown eyes steady and focused. She wanted answers. 

They were back in Thomas’ office. She was seated in his spinning chair, hands on the leather armrests. Thomas stood behind her. His eyes were heavy and tired, making him look much older than his thirty years. Dante, having just fought a demon at three in the morning, was ready to get back to sleep. Nero was wide-awake, jittery, even. 

“More upper-class demons,” Dante said. “Not the hardest the kid or I have fought, but not the easiest either.” Nero rolled his eyes at being called ‘the kid’ in front of other people, and Dante tried to ignore him. 

“Anything to indicate why they were here?” Thomas asked. 

“Yeah,” Nero murmured. “Someone sent them.” Thomas uncrossed his arms, ears and eyes wide open now. Theresa leaned forward in the office chair, resting her elbows on the dark wooden desk. 

“Who?” she asked incredulously. 

“Someone named...ah, shit, what was it again?” Nero trailed off. 

Dante averted his gaze for a half-moment, gloved fingers twitching. “Well, the one I fought mentioned something about a Queen,” Dante mumbled. “Right after making some remarks about my old man.”

Theresa cocked her head to the side. “I’m sorry, a what?” she asked incredulously. 

Dante blinked twice. “A Queen.”

“Yes, I heard you.” 

“Then why’d you ask?” he asked, completely serious. 

Thomas groaned. “Just…” he hissed, voice lowered, “tell us what happened, both of you.”

Dante and Nero looked to one-another, realizing that a) they probably should’ve compared notes before meeting with their client, and b) the other was a dumbass. 

“The one I fought said he was sent by, uh...oh!” he snapped his fingers. “Andromeda, that was it. And I guess he was a commander in her forces.” Nero sounded awake, alert, and ready to kick some more ass. “Whoever that Andromeda person is, she has answers.” After a moment, he added, “Probably.”

With a stifled yawn, Dante continued Nero’s train of thought. “Probably the same person as the Queen that kitty cat mentioned. I doubt any normal person is behind what happened tonight.” He leaned back in the chair, eyes droopy, and propped his muddy boots on Thomas’ desk, much to the younger man’s chagrin. “They might even be the ones that sent that creepy crawly on the road the other day, Tess.” 

Theresa hummed, stroking her chin. “It’s...possible, I guess. This is really more your guys’ forte, not mine.” She looked to Nero. In Fortuna, the Arch-Bishop and Priests spoke of Mundus, a proclaimed Prince of Darkness. Was there some kind of connection? “And you’d never heard of any Andromeda, right?”

Nero blew a strand of white hair out of his face. “Nope.” 

“Demons tend to exist in a hierarchy, a royal family of sorts,” Dante said. “She might be part of it.”

“You mentioned a name earlier tonight,” Thomas said. “Sparda. You think there’s a connection?”

Dante frowned, then shook his head. “Probably not. I was just spitballing.”

Thomas sighed, putting a hand on his face. “Jesus, I’m way out of my element here.”

“That’s why we’ll take it from here,” Nero said. “We’re gonna go catch some z’s, then set off to that Celestain place you mentioned. We’ll see if we can find anything. Until then, you guys just stay here.” 

Theresa nodded, face grim and heavy. “Thank you,” she mouthed. 

The two devil hunters walked out of the room, leaving the Gaumond siblings behind. All around them, guests were clamoring around, a boatload of questions filling the halls. “What were those things?” and “Who are you people?” and “Why’d the power go out?” and, above all, “What the hell happened?”

The two tried their best to ignore the crowds, until they climbed the stairs and found what looked like several families next to their door, all with varying levels of anger, concern and bafflement written on their faces. Nero turned to Dante, as if hoping for the older man to make some kind of excuse. When he did not, Nero sighed and took matters into his own hand. 

“You want the truth?” Nero asked the customers. “Those were two demons out there the size of trucks, and we have no goddamn idea why they’re here. Now can I get to my room?”

The anger faded from their faces, but pure worry replaced it. Before they got asked anything else, Nero and Dante practically threw them aside and hurried into their room. 

Once they closed and locked the door behind them, Dante fell onto the bed face-first, Cerberus still in his coat and Artemis on his wrist. “Welp, g’night kid,” he murmured into the pillow. 

“Oh no, not yet,” Nero grumbled. “What do ya know about that Demon Queen?”

Dante looked at Nero like he was a deer in the headlights. “Absolutely jackshit, kid.” Nero crossed his arms and flared his nostrils, impatiently waiting for more, but Dante had nothing to offer. “I’m being dead serious. I kicked that Mundus dude’s ass a while ago, I didn’t realize he had some kind of sister.”

Nero stared, and stared, and stared, before realizing that Dante might be telling the truth. “Well, excuse me for being cautious. You’re the one who brought us on a wild goose chase to find your dad.”

“You said you weren’t mad about that!” Dante shouted into his pillow. He reached over and turned the lamp off. 

“Eh,” Nero said. “It was fifty-fifty. I was half-mad.”

Dante rolled his eyes, and then passed out on the bed. He was snoring within the minute. 

Nero shook his head. Eyes wide-open and heart still racing, he figured that sleep wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. He killed some time reloading and cleaning Blue Rose, then he wrapped the Devil Bringer in some bandages from a first aid kit, in case the other guests confronted them again tomorrow. As Nero did so, his attention was drawn to the silver band on his human hand. He turned it clockwise on his finger, fiddling with the metal as he thought of his beloved. 

Finally, he examined the two halves of Red Queen, a frown on his lips. The mission was only gonna get harder from here, and he’d rather not use those gimmicky Devil Arms that Dante loved so much. 

Suddenly, he had an idea. Taking out the Exceed canister, he reached in with blunt fingers and found the familiar slip of paper, still tucked away beneath the helm of the sword. 

Call me if you ever need fixin’. 

01795-08-2001

Nico

He sighed. “Fine. I might as well.” 


	13. Mission 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil goes to Redgrave

Vergil seemed to find the Devil May Cry shop by pure instinct. The shop was located in one of the seedier neighborhoods of Redgrave City, in the southwest district. Vergil walked over trash-filled streets that hadn’t been cleaned in years, memories coming to him in a flood. 

It had been so long since the tower, so long since he and Dante fought Arkham and each other.  _ That was the last time I’d really been myself in years _ , Vergil recognized. 

This neighborhood was located on a bit of a hill, and looking down the street, Vergil could see into the larger city. Where the tower had sprung up years ago, the earth was stained black and the roads were uneven and torn. Even now, Vergil could sense the faint presence of demons around. The Temen-ni-gru was like a lightning rod for demonic activity; even now, over twenty years after it’s fall, devils and spirits were attracted to Redgrave like moths to a flame. 

The strongest demonic presence, however, was coming from the shop itself. Vergil scowled, examining the shop’s few openings. He could sense two beings in there, but only one seemed to be a demon; the other was a human, though their life force seemed stronger than normal. Vergil crossed the street, trying to get a better look at the people inside the windows. 

There was a woman. It took Vergil a second, but he recognized her from the tower, those many years ago. She was a shorter woman, wearing a modest white jacket and a black skirt. Her dark hair was cut in a bob, and her eyes were a mismatched red and green. A scar went over the bridge of her nose. Arkham called her “Mary,” Dante called her “Lady.”

Vergil cracked his neck. He could take her, easily. Yamato reignited Vergil’s ambition, his combat prowess, his will to live. His body and mind were restored, if only somewhat. His hair had gone back to its normal snowy white, his eyes regained their familiar fire, his skin was no longer cracked and dry like the roads beneath his feet. His senses were sharper, his hearing and sight better. No longer did he wear the filthy rags, torn trousers and worn shoes. Now, Vergil wore a pair of dark brown leather boots, black pants, fingerless gloves, and his sapphire coat, a dark gray t-shirt underneath the coat. Father Time had muted the colors of the coat somewhat, but it was unmistakable his garment of choice from over two decades ago. 

Vergil wrapped a hand around the handle of Yamato, ready to strike, when the second woman walked inside. 

She gave off the faint aura of a demon, but she was a different breed of devil. She had long blonde hair that came down her back, and she was wearing dark leather pants, a black corset, and a dark jacket over it. 

The energy radiating off her felt like a bolt of lightning, overloading Vergil’s senses.  _ So this is the demon I detected _ , he thought. 

He saw their mouths moving, but he could not hear the words they spoke. He stepped to the side, into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, concealing himself in darkness. The blonde turned around, her face now visible through the painted window, and--

“What…?” Vergil breathed. 

She looked exactly like his mother, the late Eva, wife of Sparda. Vergil’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, his skin paled, his grip on Yamato loosened. His mouth fell open.

Another wave of memories hit him. It wasn’t as strong as the first, nor as clear, nor as potent, but it nearly knocked him off his feet all the same. They were scattered memories from the decade he spent under Mundus’ control. They weren’t his memories; they were Nelo Angelo’s. 

He remembered meetings--hushed conversations in abandoned cathedrals, twilight-lit forests, snowy mountains and dark caves--with the rest of the commanders of Mundus’ army. And this woman was there. Beatrice was the name Mundus gave her, but she corrected him every time, always going by “Trish.” She hadn’t aged a day. Her eyes still pulsated with energy, her hair was still as gold as the sun, and her skin was as fair as the real Eva. 

Vergil gritted his teeth, anger overcoming him.  _ How  _ **_dare_ ** _ Mundus take her image, and pervert it like this?  _

Snapping back to focus, he tightened his grip around Yamato once more, drawing the katana. Even with his body obscured in the shadows, the sword seemed to glow a dull blue, either due to the moonlight it reflected or Vergil’s own reserves of demonic energy. 

He took a fighting stance, prepared to strike. 

**. . . . .**

“...so Dante seriously didn’t tell you where he was going?” Lady asked. 

The two women were back in the shop, having spent all day clearing demons off the highways of Redgrave. Even with Dante gone and the two having their own apartments, this was where they spent most of their time. It was like a neutral space between them, a testament to how far they’ve come. 

“Nah,” Trish said casually. “Just took Nero and left.”

Lady scoffed, falling back into one of Dante’s ratty chairs. “Well, this’ll be a boring weekend,” she muttered. “I was hoping for some action.”

“Yeah,” Trish said, leaning against the wall. “Killing Empusas and Hellbats has really lost its charm.”

Trish was about to suggest ordering a pizza for the night when she sensed something. Her first guess was that Dante had come back early. The presence felt distinctly like him, but somehow sharper. More sinister. Like the difference between a spring gust and an icy winter wind. 

It was a presence she hadn’t felt in over twenty years. 

“Lady…” Trish said, eyes alert and scanning the windows. 

Lady looked concerned. She reached down to one of the pistols on her belt, eyes still on Trish. “Trish?” she asked. 

“Lady, get away from the windows!” Trish shouted, reaching for the Sword of Sparda. 

_ He’s here _ . 

A blue blur shot through the rightmost wall, tearing it down as if it were cardboard; the resulting shockwave toppled furniture and shattered windows. In an instant, Lady and Trish had their guns drawn, shooting round after round at the half-demon. With inhuman precision, Vergil sliced and blocked the bullets, sprinting from one end of the shop to the other. As he ran by, he drew on the reserves of demonic energy dwelling within him, and summoned a barrage of astral swords. 

Lady ducked and narrowly avoided three of the swords, stepping out of the way just before a fourth would’ve struck her in the foot. In a breath, Trish put away her pistols, Luce and Ombra, and pulled out the Sword of Sparda, swatting away four more swords. 

Lady reached behind her, pulling out Kalina Ann and aiming it at the half-demon. Her eyes fell to Vergil, who studied her with a serpentine, calculating gaze. “Mary,” he acknowledged. “Where is my brother?”

“Not here,” Lady replied, her rocket launcher still aimed and ready to blow him apart. “Come back another time.”

In a flash of light, Yamato had been replaced with two black gauntlets and a pair of heavy metallic greaves. Lady squeezed the trigger, firing a missile at Vergil. The dark slayer plucked the missile out of the air and at Trish; the demoness was just fast enough to block it with the Sword of Sparda, but the explosion still sent her flying into the wall. 

In the chaos, Vergil charged at Lady. She let go of Kalina Ann with her right hand and reached for a pistol, but Vergil slapped it away from her. 

“I have no patience for this, Mary,” he said, his words as cold as his eyes. “Where. Is. Dante?”

“Go to hell,” Lady spat. She raised both feet off the ground and dropkicked Vergil as hard as she possibly could. The hunter felt flying across the room, landing within Trish’s line of sight. 

Now recovered from the explosion, Trish charged at Vergil. She swung in a high arc, aiming for his head with the Sword of Sparda. When Vergil ducked, she extended a leg and kicked him square in the chest with inhuman strength. 

Vergil was sent flying through the door, the wood breaking into hundreds of splinters as he landed on the cold streets of Redgrave. Trish leaped into the air, the Sword in one hand and Ombra in the other, and fired three shots, charging electricity into each of them. 

Vergil held out a Beowulf-clad palm and caught all three bullets, before rolling out of the way just in time to avoid Trish’s attack. Her sword strike was met with nothing but air. 

A duel ensued in the streets. Trish adjusted her footing, repositioned herself, and went in for a followup strike with her crimson sword. Vergil sent Beowulf away, and the gauntlets and greaves disappeared with a white light. In the blink of an eye, Yamato was back in his right hand, parrying all of Trish’s strikes. 

Normally, Vergil would outpace her in speed, but he wasn’t back to full strength, not yet. With each hit she threw at him, Vergil would parry with Yamato, opening her up for a counterstrike. Each time, she managed to sidestep away from the rapid slashes and quick stabs. 

Taking a risk, Trish let go of the Sword with one hand. Vergil adjusted his footing and brought Yamato down just as she swung hers up. The two blades clashed, and they were frozen in time for a split-second. Just long enough for Trish to put her hand against his chest and charge as much electricity as she could. 

The effects were instant. It was as if lightning struck Vergil’s entire body. The half-demon was sent flying back, crashing into a nearby car. Before he had time to catch his breath, Lady was already out the door, firing another barrage of bullets. Vergil managed to roll away and avoid most of them, but one pierced his thigh and another his hip. 

Lady stopped to reload. Trish pointed her sword at Vergil. “Vergil,” she said, “it’s over.”

Vergil blinked, dumbfounded at the sight before him. At the face of his mother. “Of course not,” he spat. 

Practically growling, he leaped from the street, sword aimed at Trish’s head. The demoness ducked at the last second. Vergil landed on the street behind her, next to the shop door. Now, Lady was in attacking range. She swung Kalina Ann like it was a club; Vergil ducked out of the way as the massive bazooka hit brick walls, street lights and cars indiscriminately. 

It didn’t take long for Trish to jump into the battle, either. Pretty soon, both women were attacking Vergil from all sides. Yamato alone wasn’t going to help him block every attack. 

Thinking quickly, he called upon the deepest recesses of his mind, upon the feelings and powers of Nelo Angelo, and summoned the dark knight’s massive broadsword into his left hand. At the same time, he reached over with his right hand and pulled Yamato out of its scabbard. It worked. The glowing broadsword blocked Lady’s blunt attack, while Yamato blocked Trish’s sword. 

Trapped in a blade-lock, Vergil kicked at Trish’s leg. She lost her footing and fell slightly, an opening Vergil used to slam his knee into her face. This freed up his right hand, which he used to stab Yamato at Lady. She jumped out of the way in time, but she still wasn’t fast enough to stop his followup attack, a roundhouse kick to her ribs. 

It wasn’t enough to incapacitate her, and Vergil knew it, but that was fine. He had another objective. 

Vergil summoned Nelo’s broadsword away. “That was a good warmup,” he said mildly. 

Trish jumped to her feet, Sword of Sparda in hand, and swung it in a vertical slash. Vergil surprised her by summoning one of Beowulf’s gauntlets to his left hand. He caught the Sword in his left, and punched Trish in the gut with his right. The demoness was sent flying, but the Sword of Sparda remained in Vergil’s grasp. 

A cold, short chuckle escaped Vergil’s lips.  _ I thought this felt familiar _ , he realized as he held the sword in his hand.  _ The Force Edge _ . Much like when he regained Yamato, the Sword of Sparda seemed to replenish some of his energy. He felt lighter, younger, faster. For the first time in over two decades, Vergil felt like...well, himself. 

It was evident the Force Edge had undergone some kind of transformation. Vergil didn’t care much for the metamorphosis. Gone was the simplistic beauty of Force Edge, and in its place was a gnarly, heavy weapon with a thick organic hide and a spine-like structure, as if it were alive. 

Vergil shrugged. It didn’t matter what form his father’s sword had taken, as long as it was his to wield. 

Trish and Lady both charged, ready to keep fighting, but Vergil had already opened a portal with Yamato. He stepped inside, moving between dimensions to reach his destination, and not a second later, the portal closed, leaving Lady and Trish alone in the street. 

The two women looked at one-another. Trish glanced down to her hands, the hands that had just been wielding the Sword of Sparda. 

Lady walked over, resting Kalina Ann on her shoulder. “What the hell just happened?” she asked. 


End file.
